


Rock and Tempest

by mistysinkat, sallyamongpoison



Series: Rock and Tempest: The Complete Series [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cigarettes, Crab boat au, Cullen's a little harsh, Domestic Fluff, Dorian's a little bratty, Family Issues, House sharing, Jumping to Conclusions, M/M, Mention of Death, Mention of blood, Miscommunication, NOT love at first sight, Nightmares, Scars, Seasickness, Slow Burn, Smoking, Trust Issues, Vomiting, deep sea fishing, glaring and grumps, mention of prescription painkillers, mention of riots, mention of violence, reality show, secret romance, suddenly domestic, things overheard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:15:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 274,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6254359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistysinkat/pseuds/mistysinkat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallyamongpoison/pseuds/sallyamongpoison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Big boats and big egos. Cullen Rutherford is a surly fisherman with a heart of gold and a penchant for order. Dorian Pavus is a bratty, upstart camera man for the reality show "Frozen Bounty" who doesn't like to follow rules. Hijinks ensue on the Frozen Sea as the crew of the crabbing boat, The Herald, tries to survive the season... and Cullen and Dorian try to survive each other.</p>
<p>----</p>
<p>Welcome to our second collaborative project! </p>
<p>This is a published roleplay, written by sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and mistysinkat (Cullen). Come find us on Tumblr: @sallyamongpoison and @mistysinkat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cullen Rutherford: Deck Boss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen Rutherford is the steadfast and stern deck boss on the crab fishing boat, The Herald. He leads a solitary and predictable life, and he likes it that way. A new season is beginning, though, and he has no idea how much that life is about to be changed.

4:03 AM

_No._

4:12 AM

_No. Fuck, no._

4:21 AM

_Maker save me. No._

4:30 AM

_Shit. Here we go._

Cullen Rutherford wasn't a “morning person,” not any more. He was more a “stay up all night” person these days, which usually worked well, given his current profession. Hard work at all hours for a concentrated amount of time with the salt air in his face and nothing but ocean for miles around - it suited him just fine. Usually.

Today, however, was the first day. The day when everyone met at the docks and began the arduous task of prepping the ships for another two seasons of fishing - first king crab, then a short break and the snow crab in the winter. Another three or four months of grueling work, risking life and limb just to haul in their quota - hundreds of thousands of pounds of crab. It was back-breaking work, evidenced by the crack in his spine as he finally sat up in bed and stretched out, but he loved it. Most days, anyway.

Deck boss of The Herald, sailing out of Port Gwaren to fish the Frozen Seas with the rest of the fleet - that was Cullen's calling, and he was damn good at it. Captain Trevelyan kept them on the crab, and Cullen kept the men alive and moving. It was a fine system that worked on trust, developed over the past 8 years of working with the same crew, more or less, and Cullen was proud of his track record. No major incidents in all that time - he got his men out and back in one piece. Regardless of how the fishing went, each time they pulled into port safe and sound at the end of a season, he counted it a success.

Every year, too many people were lost to the beautiful, merciless chaos of the sea. Making sure the men of The Herald weren't numbered amongst those who fell was Cullen's responsibility, and one he took seriously. He'd lost people before, in another life, and vowed that he'd never have to tell another family that a beloved son, brother, father, husband had been lost. Maker willing, he'd do everything in his power to get his crew home safe and sound - the deckhands and… the cameramen.

Still groggy with sleep, Cullen stumbled to his tiny bathroom. He relieved himself, washed his hands, and splashed cold water on his face. As cold as he could get it - the colder the better. And there was that scarred mug, the same one that greeted him every morning… or early afternoon, as was usually the case. With a heavy sigh, he took in the dark circles under honey brown eyes, scar from a past he'd rather forget cutting his top lip, perpetually scruffy jaw, silver dog tags that never left his neck, and messy blond waves permanently flared out at the ends from the knit cap he always wore. If his eyes drifted lower over his arms and chest and stomach, he'd see tattoos and more scars, more mementos of a time 8 years gone, but still fresh if he ever cared to think on it. He usually didn't… at least not while he was awake. He had no control over what his mind served up in his sleep, so he avoided it as long as he could, more often than not staying up until he couldn't hold his eyes open. Then and only then, would he collapse into bed each night. That explained the circles, of course, and the way he fought waking until his body ached from lying in bed. It wasn't normal, he knew that, but it worked for him, for now.

Still, today marked the end of that way of life, if only for a few months. _Time to go fishing_ , he thought, the barest of smiles gracing his otherwise grim face. He never felt so alive as he did out _there._ His solitary life in his small, barely furnished ranch house in this neighborhood that was running seedier with each passing year - that was all just _waiting_. Biding time and waiting.

For today.

He brushed and flossed his teeth, stuffed his toothbrush, toothpaste and floss in the one bag he'd be bringing along, and got dressed quickly - worn boots, jeans over thermal underwear, long-sleeved shirt, soft, black sweater and, of course, the dark red knit cap that only ever left his head when he slept. It was the same thing he'd worn on the first day since the one year they'd rolled in the crab. He didn't consider himself a superstitious man, but he saw no reason to hedge bets.

Beside that, he was a creature of habit. Which could be considered superstition in a way, he supposed, but he rather liked to think of it as sticking with _what worked_.

He wheeled his bag out to the living room and left it by the door as he took time to brew coffee. One pot filled his overlarge thermos, and he knew he'd need it. As set in his ways as he was, today would bring a new challenge. The boat was bringing on a greenhorn to make up for the loss of a seasoned engineer, Duncan - a serious but good-natured man Cullen had been proud to call crew, and would miss more than he cared to admit, but it had been time for the man to retire. Past time, really. This new guy would be the first greenhorn they'd taken on since Barris joined them several seasons ago, and it was an unspoken law that the deck boss break him in. As he waited for the coffee to finish brewing, Cullen shot up a prayer to anyone listening that this greenhorn would be just as hard working, just as serious as Barris had been. He wasn't holding his breath, deckhands like Barris were few and far between… but it would be nice.

And on top of it all… this season was _his turn_. He frowned at that thought as he pulled out his thermos and added copious amounts of cream and sugar to it. He was “the meanest son of a bitch on the fleet” if his write up on the network’s site was to be believed, but he still had a sweet tooth.

Coffee brewed and stowed away, Cullen pulled on his heavy coat with the fur-lined hood, grabbed his bag and turned, as he always did, to look into his gray little living room with the one couch and a little table and a TV.

“See ya in a few,” he said to his empty house before walking out into the cold, rainy morning. He smiled, despite the cold, though it was humorless. Of course it was already raining. It wouldn't be easy. It was never easy. And that's why he loved it.

The ride to the parking deck at the shipyard took about 45 minutes through the Brecilian National Park, but Cullen’s mind was already working the endless lists of things that needed to be done before they could ship out in a little under a week. _Maybe the storage units will be there. And hopefully, the pots, too. Gotta unload the lines and the bait bags… and get the bait onboard. Barris and the new guy can get to work on that. Samson’ll be down in the engine room checking up on the repairs and probably making new ones for a while. Gotta test out all the hydros. Inspect and spot-weld the pots. Make sure the survival suits and rafts are in good shape. Trev’ll get us to go do a food run or three, so Blackwall can set up the galley. Maker please don’t have us shipping out late again because we’re waiting on fucking snacks and coffee._ And on and on. He was on his way, but there was still so much to do before they left port.

Including a full day of Maker-damned safety and orientation training for a bunch of _cameramen._ Rough fingers gripped the steering wheel of the old pickup truck Cullen drove in the off season. His turn. It was his turn to show the pack of… non-essentials the things that any fisherman worth his salt already knew. CPR, putting on survival suits, deck safety, operating the life rafts, what to do if you find yourself in the frigid waters of the Frozen Seas, general boat orientation, and, Maker, _terms_. He’d be spending an entire day _not prepping,_  ticking through some damn glossary of nautical terms - _aft is the back of the boat, assholes -_ before moving on to one of the most important lessons - how to stay the fuck out of the way.

_A damned nuisance, is what it is_ , Cullen thought as a frown creased his face with deep lines. He’d been the most vocal crew member against Captain Trevelyan’s decision to be one of the boats featured heavily on the reality show, _Frozen Bounty_. _Ridiculous,_ Cullen had argued then, and he still stood by it, five years later. It had brought in some revenue, and Maker knows they’d definitely put it to good use over the years, but the cameras came with people attached to them - two men who lived on the boat with them. Men who'd never set foot on a crab boat, at least in the early years. Two more people he was responsible for, and worse than greenhorns, to boot. Where the rest of the crew thought it funny to watch them bumble around on their land legs the first few days, Cullen just saw liability - accidents waiting to happen.

Still, the two they'd had were vets on The Herald now. It had taken a while, but they'd finally learned how to get what they needed without getting in the way or, more importantly, nearly getting themselves killed. Regardless of the role, the deck - _Cullen's_ deck - was a very dangerous place to be. He'd not have anyone question his orders, be they crew or cameramen.

Plus, Varric was pretty good for a laugh, and Solas was, if anything, very serious about his duties and incredibly aware of his surroundings. It wasn't all bad. It could be worse. He'd heard horror stories about the show’s crew on The Kaaras, though to be fair, Cullen suspected a lot of that was due to Bull and his “Chargers” and their fondness for… shenanigans.

But, sweet Maker, _orientation?_

Cullen pulled into long-term parking, yanked the emergency brake up, and took a deep breath as he closed his eyes. He already felt heavy and tired, and it wasn’t even 6 AM yet.

_Oh, sweet and just Andraste, guide me and give me the patience I need to do what has to be done because my captain wants to be a fucking TV star._

Prayer said - blasphemous as it was, Cullen thought the lady would understand - he grabbed his coffee and his bag and made his way to the docks and his boat. The Herald. She was unique in both stature and color, a beauty with graceful lines, her wheelhouse that sat forward rather than aft, and a fresh coat of white paint. Cullen's face beamed with true happiness when he saw her. “There you are, my dear,” he greeted her before stepping onto the gangplank for the first time of the season.

“Dear Maker, be good to us. The sea is so wide and our boat is so small.”

He murmured those words, another prayer, but this time more… sanctified? Heartfelt, anyway, as it was each and every year when he boarded The Herald for the first time. He could go on at great length about the perils of the sea, and how he earnestly wished for the well being of the crew above all else, but those two thoughts - _the sea is wide, our boat is small_ \- summed up the situation perfectly. No matter how experienced you were, no matter how big or safe you thought your boat, the sea was bigger, wilder, hungrier. She’d swallow you whole if you weren’t careful… or even if you were, sometimes.

There were already people from the show on board, scurrying here and there across his deck to set up the stationary cameras and run their tests. _Can’t miss that exciting footage of us loading pots and bait._ It set his teeth on edge, but he paid them no mind. Or he tried not to. It always rankled to have people on board The Herald who didn’t respect her, not really. The crew from the show were usually nice enough, but they weren’t of the sea. It was a marriage of two worlds that had no business being in bed together. No business at all, yet here they were.

Cullen found Trev belowdecks in the galley with Varric. The two had become fast friends, which was good, since Varric was typically assigned wheelhouse duty while Solas worked the deck. Varric pulled seniority for that one, and Cullen couldn’t say that he blamed the man.

“Curly! How the heck are ya?” Varric said with a rolling laugh and a clap on the back. Cullen sighed and rolled his eyes at the nickname, but that’s all the man had called him since he’d seen Cullen without his cap on the first season they'd been together. Everyone got a dumb nickname from Varric. At this point, it was like a rite of passage, and Cullen humored it. From Varric, at least.

“Another season of this, huh?” Cullen shot back, his eyes smiling. He liked Varric, despite the nicknames and his joking, or maybe because of it. Plus, the man knew how to get his job done without keeping others from doing the same. There was a lot to be said for that.

“You bet your ass,” Varric laughed back, “I gotta get back up there and help set up, but it’s good to see you, man. We’ll catch up later… I wanna see if the fans who bet you’d finally have a girlfriend this season have to pay up.”

“They will,” Cullen grumbled, “I can't believe they still do that.”

“.... or a boyfriend?”

“Varric,” Cullen replied, a warning tone in his voice.

“You're no fun,” Varric grinned with a wink as he turned to leave.

They watched the dwarf head back up to the deck before Trev turned back to Cullen, face melting into something far more serious. Cullen didn’t like the look of this.

“Listen, you’re not going to like this…” Trev began with a careful tone.

“I don’t like _any_ of this, and you know it,” Cullen snapped back and tossed a hand in the direction of the deck - _none of those people should be up there._

“I don’t… Cullen, I don’t mean the show. There’s a new guy…”

“The greenhorn? Haven’t met him yet.”

“No, I mean there’s a new camera guy. Solas isn’t coming back. His wife is apparently in labor, or was in labor, or will be soon… either way, he’s got a baby to deal with and had to take a break this year. They’ve hired a replacement…”

“So, what… someone from one of the other boats?” Cullen could hope, but the odds were slim.

The captain shook his head solemnly and answered, “He’s green, Cullen. Completely.”

“Maker, Trev, I know you’re not telling me I have to babysit a greenhorn _and_ a new camera guy. That’s just…”

“Yeah, I know. Bad timing, really it is. But Varric’s sworn that he’ll look out for the guy and show him the ropes. How things work on our boat. That sort of thing. He shouldn’t get in your hair too much.”

“I highly fucking doubt that,” Cullen griped as he turned to go drop his bag in his bunk. The Herald was a small boat, comparatively, but it did have two private “staterooms,” a name that made the little cubicles seem more grand than they could ever dream of being. The larger of the two went to the captain, and as the deck boss, Cullen got the other. Not that he spent a lot of time in it, but he was glad to have a space that was his own to retreat to… when he could stomach how confined it was.

Once the camera crew finished their set up and got the fuck off the boat, the real work began. The next few days passed in a whirlwind of unloading and loading and preparations. The items on Cullen’s list were ticked off steadily, and his mood increased greatly as he lost himself in the work of getting ready _to fish_. Things were moving as smoothly as he ever remembered, though he was keeping a wary eye on the new greenhorn. He’d met him the day prep began, a smiling young man by the name of Alistair who was a little too loose for Cullen’s tastes, but had so far taken direction well. And stood up to the inevitable ribbing of the crew, but that usually lasted as long as it took for them to hit the first really hard night. Cullen knew he’d crack eventually as they all did, even he had broken rather spectacularly once upon a time when he himself was green. The real test of Alistair’s resolve would happen then - would he bounce back from the break or slink away from the boat in defeat the next time The Herald was in port? All of that remained to be seen, so for now, Cullen kept both his eyes on the jovial greenhorn.

Two days before the season was to begin, Cullen found himself in the little pub next to the docks with the captains and deck bosses from the other boats featured on the show. They all wore their mics already, had since the camera crew had finished their set up, and the captains were in the limelight as they made their seasonal wager. Cullen was glad to have the cameras off him - they’d already caught him in heated moments barking orders at his men as they went through supplies and began the task of inspecting and stacking pots. More fuel for their portrayal of him as a grim-faced, lonely bastard. Which he was, he supposed, but only because there was no room for mistakes on a crab boat, even while she was docked.

After the captain’s wager was made and the camera crew that followed them around on land had left, Trev and Cullen turned their mics off and sat in relative peace and quiet for one final pint.

“Rough year ahead,” Trev offered with a deep sigh.

“You’re telling me,” Cullen replied. “The equivalent of two greenhorns on my deck. I’m in a bad spot... But it’ll be good for ratings.” That last bit was a jab, though it carried a little more venom than he really intended.

Trev winced, “It’s good for us, Cullen. We need the extra cash… this year more than ever.”

Cullen cocked his head. Something about the captain’s tone rubbed him raw. It sounded like… defeat. It was far too early for that to come out. That was a tone he reserved for days of pulling blanks, not over a pint before the season even began. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… we had a lot more to repair in the off season than I’ve told anyone, even you. We had to sink $850,000 into fixing her up after last season, and the banks are gonna want that money back at the end of this one. We’re in a bad place. If I can’t dial into the crab, and soon…”

“You will. You always do.”

“No, we’re in real danger here. If we don’t have a good, clean, _quick_ season, we’re done. I’m not telling the guys this - no point in pressuring them when they can’t do a damn thing about it - but you should know how serious it is,” Trev paused and sighed. Cullen didn’t care for the exhaustion behind the man’s eyes, not one bit. That level of worry was Cullen’s job - the captain needed to stay fresh to be able to think and cook up strategies.

“Hey,” Cullen offered after a moment, “You do what you do, each and every year, and we’ll be fine. I’ll make sure the guys do their part. If we fail, we’ll fail because the sea isn’t with us, not because you or our boys were lacking.”

“I know,” Trev replied with a weak chuckle, “They never do. We’ve got a good thing, a good crew… It’d kill me to lose it all. Could you imagine?”

“No, I couldn’t,” Cullen answered, “Because I don’t have to. It won’t happen, ok? You do your job, I’ll do mine, and we’ll be back here next year.”

Trev grinned and nodded. That was a little better; the man looked less heartsick, anyway, so Cullen could breathe a bit easier, too. They passed a few moments in comfortable silence as they finished off their beers. Finally, with a sigh, Cullen tossed a few dollars on the table and pushed back in his chair. “I’ve got that damn class in the morning,” he grumbled, “I should go to my bunk and try to get some sleep. “

“You go easy on them, ok? If you were nicer to them, they wouldn’t cast you as the oh-so-handsome tragic antihero of the fleet,” Trev laughed, “I know that’s going in one ear and out the other, but….”

“Sweet Maker, Trev…”

“Just be nice.”

“I’m always _nice_.”

The captain shot him a look that said he didn’t believe it as Cullen said goodnight and turned to make his way back to his bunk on The Herald. That conversation had given him a lot to chew on - this _had_ to be a successful season. There was no way around it. The pressure was on to make sure his deck ran like clockwork this year… of all the years to have a greenhorn and a new camera guy at the same time, of course it would be this one. Thoughts raced around his head as he set his alarm for 5:33 AM - allowing for three taps of the snooze button before he actually had to be up and doing, as usual. He bedded down and tried to sleep. It was late, he’d only get about 5 hours of sleep if he drifted off immediately, but he couldn’t slow his mind down enough for sleep to come. _Everything has to be perfect. Maker, please let everything be perfect. I can’t do anything else. This is all I have._

His alarm shouted him awake almost as soon as he closed his eyes, it seemed. The first thought in his pounding head was _it has to be perfect_ followed closely by _fucking Maker-damned training_. His mood didn’t improve when he made his way to the galley, only to remember that they still needed to make their food run. No coffee. _Fuck_ , he thought, hoping the community hall would have some. There was no way in the Void he was going to make it through the day without coffee. No way. Andraste help the poor cameramen and support staff in his class if he didn’t get his hands on some before it started at 7:00.

He grabbed his paperwork and notes - amongst it the agenda they’d given him, which he’d immediately… reprioritized - and walked out on deck to clearing skies and a bracing wind. It was early enough that there wasn’t much movement on the docks, none at all on his deck, and Cullen let that stillness wash over him. The sun was rising over the harbor, burning off the fog that had gathered in the night, and he took a moment to drink it in, breathing deeply and letting the beauty of the sea warm him a bit. There really was nothing like sunrise over calm seas, coffee or no. The throbbing pain in his head loosened its grip just a bit in the face of that.

But he couldn’t stay there, letting the sea soothe his nerves. He had to go spend his day inside a grubby, dim little community center, trying to convince cameramen that they weren’t invincible. The sea was the great equalizer, and it was his job today to put a healthy dose of fear into soft hearts and ignorant minds. 

“Nothing for it but to do it,” he muttered as he made his way down the gangplank and took the first steps of the short walk that would take him to the center.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome Cullen to the story! The poor dear has no idea what's in store for him when he gets to the docks. 
> 
> This one was written by Misty as an intro to this AU's Cullen.


	2. Dorian Pavus: Cameraman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cut off and out of options, Dorian Pavus is a camera man with little to lose (other than possibly his lunch) when he signs a deal to work on the network show Frozen Bounty. As he comes to terms with his decision, he also takes some time to reflect on himself, what got him to this point, and the season that lies ahead.

_ _

_“I’m sorry, Dorian, it’s just...it’s not going to happen.”_

_“That’s really not acceptable and you know it.”_

_“I know. It wasn’t my choice, but if you need a recommendation for anything I’ll take care of it.”_

_“A recommendation isn’t going to pay my rent.”_

_“A recommendation’s going to get you another job that will, so don’t be a brat and accept it.”_

_“Fine.”_

_\--_

_So long as you plan to indulge in this whimsical nonsense I see no reason to fund your lifestyle. When you come to your senses we can renegotiate, but until then you can learn what it’s like to live like the soparati you seem to think you want to be._

_Your mother and I refuse to watch you ruin your life on these flights of fancy._

_\--_

_“I haven’t actually lost my mind. Don’t get all silent and judgy at me, Felix, I know what I’m doing.”_

_“Do you? Really? Did you even read the brief? People DIE out there, Dorian.”_

_“I’m not going to be the one juggling giant steel traps. Just...filming it.”_

_“And you’ll still be on the boat if it sinks.”_

_“I don’t have a lot of options, Felix, alright?”_

_“Come stay with me. You know I don’t mind.”_

_“If I want to do more than_ just _stay in your guest room, then I need to do something. Something that’s...impressive. New and impressive.”_

_“What did you even tell them when you went in? You don’t exactly match the grizzled veteran type they’re probably looking for.”_

_“I said I was looking for an adventure.”_

_“Dorian Pavus and adventure do not belong in the same sentence and you know it.”_

_“I’m adventurous!”_

_“A threesome isn’t the kind of adventurous they’re probably looking for.”_

_\--_

The line about being adventurous wasn’t exactly a lie. Felix’s approximation was probably closer than Dorian wanted to admit, but the fact of the matter was that Dorian needed a change of pace. Like, yesterday. Sadly, that change of pace needed to come with a paycheck and while he would have loved to find some indie movie to work on, something close to his heart that would have been beautiful and haunting and lovely, he had been rather stuck with no options and one crumpled phone number and a name on it.

A executive producer, one that he’d met once upon a time at a party, told him to give a call should he ever need any help. They were down a camera guy, someone apparently had a baby and couldn’t make it, and they needed someone. They needed someone adventurous and good at his job. Dorian was those things. Dorian also needed money to live since he had, at last check of his bank account, he had about three hundred dollars. That wasn’t going to last him long, and this job was pretty much ‘get there now, here’s a plane ticket.’

He could work with that.

He could work with a lot of things. Dorian could work with getting cut off. He could work with getting his dream job ripped out from under his feet. He could work with eating cup-of-noodles for two meals a day because anything with real nutrition was too expensive. He could work with jumping on a plane with pretty much everything he owned (and had with him) to go stay in a literal one horse town until they had to go set things up. He could deal with paying a premium on his insurance for the steep incline in danger.

Maker, though, Dorian hated water. He hated water and boats.

He didn’t quite _divulge_ that, but it was the truth. He could work with it, however, if he had to. And he had to.

When he arrived in Gwaren Dorian’s jaw had dropped. It had been a terrible flight in a tiny little plane and he’d felt sick the moment he saw the water and the beach. This wasn’t like the beaches in the Imperium, which were all warm sand and sunshine, and instead was nothing but rocks and grey skies and a cold like Dorian hadn’t felt in his life. They’d told him to pack warm clothes and lots of them, but Dorian had neither the wardrobe nor the money for it. He’d made due with what he had, bought what he could afford, but there wasn’t much he could do. Thankfully the production company put them up in what had to be the sleaziest motel Dorian had ever seen, so at least he hadn’t had to worry about finding somewhere to sleep, but the town and the motel were just...nothing like he’d ever seen.

Suddenly Felix’s spare room sounded a lot better, but he’d already signed the contracts.

It was an intense week, at least, filled with enough information and directions to make Dorian’s head spin until he dropped into the possibly flea-ridden bed at night. He’d never worked on a network show before, and nothing like this. Boats. Fishing. Dangerous conditions. Dorian had caught it a few times when it was on but inevitably changed the channel. Grizzled men on crab boats wasn’t really his idea of interesting television, but he knew the basics. Well, he thought he had. There was apparently a lot more than he’d bargained for and it all made his head hurt.

He’d been assigned to The Herald, which was apparently a fan favorite, and after meeting with the captain Dorian couldn’t help but wonder again if he was making a mistake. The man seemed nice enough, Trevelyen, but Dorian was so unused to...anything like this. He was warm and welcoming to the newest ‘member’ with a smile and a handshake, but there was a distinct line there. His partner for the season, veteran camera guy Varric Tethras, had been greeted with a back slapping hug and already a few inside jokes that Dorian had a feeling he’d never really understand. He was the new guy in a lot of ways and in those moments the wind blew a little colder with the knowledge that he was well and truly on his own.

On top of the production demands there was setting up stationary cameras, which suited Dorian just fine, and he watched and helped with an interest he hadn’t expected. All the equipment for the show was top notch and expensive, but it was pretty well understood that it would only last a season. What Dorian wouldn’t have given to have some of that for his own personal collection, and the knowledge that thousands of dollars worth of cameras and the like would be filled with salt water by the end of it was heartbreaking. It meant that when he’d been given his, along with a few boxes of plastic sheeting to use as a cover on deck, he’d clutched it to him like a newborn baby. His baby. It was his responsibility and his moneymaker. That felt right. As did learning about the other equipment. One could always learn new things, after all, and once the setup had been done and Dorian watched the test footage he was genuinely impressed with just how _good_ it all was.

That, and he knew he could bring a few new things to the table. The directors had said not to get too crazy with anything, but ratings were ratings and anything to edge out the competition was welcome. Dorian was good at that. He was the best, and he was determined to set himself apart. So the others had inside jokes, what did that matter to him? He was there to do a job, a job he wouldn’t have picked unless he was desperate, and he wanted to do it to the best of his ability. he could show them, after all, that some ‘Vint with an arts background could be just as good as anyone else. Better, even.

The boat was nice enough. Or, at least, he thought it was. Dorian didn’t exactly know boats. It was smaller than some of the others their team filmed for the show, which was probably why he’d been shuffled onto it, and it seemed about as clean and well kept as a boat could be. This wasn’t a yacht, though. The berths were small and cramped and dark, and it already smelled of salt and fish. He’d wrinkled his nose at it, and at the hooks already lined in rubber coats and pants and gloves that stunk like they’d been there for years. The gentle rocking of it while it was docked too, had soured his stomach to the point that Dorian had skipped a few meals, and he was certainly glad for the focus of getting their gear set up so he didn’t think about it too much. When he thought about it too much he’d had to retch over the side of the railing and try not to actually be ill.

“You gonna need a bucket with your name on it?” Varric had asked with a grin as he ripped a piece of electrical tape with his teeth, “because I’m sure we could do that.”

“No,” Dorian had answered through gritted teeth before he swirled some water from a bottle around in his mouth and swallowed, “but _thank you_.”

Everyone had said it was going to be rough, but they’d been supportive. Mostly. As supportive as a bunch of people who lived through it for five years could be. Dorian took that with a grain of salt and busied himself with his own matters. Every day he worked was money in his bank account and money he could use to finally do the work he wanted. One year doing this was going to net him something, some...well, another recommendation. That was what he needed.

Provided, of course, he lived that long.

A pile of hideous clothes had been dumped in his lap on the last day of production meetings: all high visibility orange, yellow, and...Maker help him, bright green. There were vests, hoodies, jackets, any and everything a man standing on a little white boat in a sea full of churning grey water would need. “So they can see you” was what he’d been told, and Dorian’s stomach knotted again. It was for the crew so they could see him when he was filming, and apparently...well, in the event of something bad. Dorian was also pretty sure his stomach was just a bunch of knots tangled up on themselves now.

When they’d finished doing the setup Varric had grinned at him, watched him pitch on the dock after he’d stepped off the boat, and then started laughing. “Oh, this should be good,” he’d told Dorian with a slap on the back, “Curly’s gonna love you.”

Dorian didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t know who ‘Curly’ was, and his very limited database of faces and names didn’t help much. As it was, he knew the production team and the captain of the ship he’d be on. Well, and the name of the woman who ran the hotel and seemed to think it an affront to ask for towels that weren’t starched within an inch of their inanimate lives. People liked him, though, always had and always would so he wasn’t terribly worried. Not about that, anyway. Dorian was a people person. He did well with them. It was how he’d gotten there, after all.

He felt a bit lost that last afternoon, once they’d finished setting up and left the boats to do what they needed to do. It was two days until the season opened, two days for safety training with the crew members and getting people settled, and then they’d be off. They’d be off and Dorian was going have to stand on that boat and not only film but watch people work one of the most dangerous jobs in all of Thedas. He’d been nebulously aware of that, since that was the tagline for  _Frozen Bounty_ but it didn’t really hit him until he came into contact with the boat and actually lay a hand on one of the giant crab...traps? It was huge and made of steel and so cold to the touch. It weighed more than he did by half, probably, and it was in that moment that he realized one wrong move could mean a lot of problems.

It also meant that the airplane sized bottles of whiskey Felix had sent him with to keep him warm was probably a bad idea. _That_ also made him want to drink. A lot. Dorian did a lot of stupid shit in the name of making himself known and trying to push his career, but he’d never actively put himself in danger. Sure, there were a few times he’d filmed in places that got him knocked around a little and threatened, but this was different. This was the first time he was truly on his own with not one person he’d ever known there beside him. All the rest of his jobs had been a result of friendships along with his own prowess. This? He had no one to fall back on or really rely on. The producers had said to trust each other, fall exercises included, but there was a very large difference in catching Varric when he fell off a ladder (though he was heavier than he looked for a dwarf) and going to him when he felt...vulnerable or whatever. The dwarf could hardly look at him without a fucking smirk on his face, after all.

That last night, after everyone had called it for the day, Dorian sat on the bed in his flea-ridden hotel room and stared down at his phone. The shower he’d taken had been more cold than not, and those same starchy towels didn’t do anything for his skin. He’d contemplated taking a bath, since he was sure it would be his last comfortable bathing situation for a while, but the combined cold water and too many questions about the last time the tub had been scrubbed down enough for him to lie down in it kept him from bothering. Instead he sat cross-legged with his glasses on and his hair sticking up at odd angles while he checked his email and enjoyed what was going to probably be his last contact with the world for a few weeks. Apparently the boats came back in periodically to drop off what they had so there was time to get within cell phone range, but it wasn’t that often. So he sent off one last email to Felix to tell him how things were, along with a few pictures he’d taken show off the (admittedly beautiful) view, and sat back against the headboard as he contemplated the weather forecast.

He should be in bed already. He should have been asleep. His alarm was set for six in the morning so they could make it to the community hall for their safety training by seven. Apparently it was a full day of it with both the camera crew and some of the crew of the other boats along with the one he’d been assigned to. On some level, though, Dorian didn’t want to go to bed. Going to bed would make the morning come sooner and he wasn’t ready. He was exhausted, but he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to be on his own so completely. He wasn’t ready to move into one of those tiny berths in the belly of that boat where he felt like he was in a cave. He wasn’t ready to be pitched around like a bath toy. He just...wasn’t ready.

Not that anyone would know that. In the morning he’d go in and be as confident and personable as he ever was. He’d smile and make jokes and ingratiate himself as one of Them. He’d be one of Them in his own way, with his own spin, and he’d be wonderful at it. His resume had spoken for itself, really. If only _Frozen Bounty_ knew what they were getting.  They’d never known anyone like Dorian Pavus before.

When the alarm went off Dorian didn’t groan and whine. He didn’t hit _snooze_ four times and stand in the shower until he shuffled out for bad motel coffee. He turned off the alarm, sat up and took a breath, and just _did it_. He washed, dressed, got himself together in not quite a suit, but a nice pair of slacks and a t-shirt, and readied himself. This was truly the start of it. From the moment he walked out that door he needed to be _Dorian Pavus_ and while he was ready for that he needed a moment to breathe.

He opened the window before he went out and stared into a thick fog. Outside the other members of the production team were loading the vans and trucks and Dorian would have to go soon so they could head off. For now, though, he just looked out at the grey sky that seemed to reach out and touch the ground. He was nervous. Maker, he was so nervous.

“Through blinding mist I climb. A sheer cliff, the summit shrouded in fog, the base endlessly far beneath my feet. The Maker is the rock to which I cling,” he breathed softly. Prayer wasn’t usually Dorian’s way, but it felt right and he’d always trusted his gut.

He’d have to trust it now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome Dorian to the story! 
> 
> This one was written by Sally as an intro to this AU's version of Dorian.


	3. Impressions [1 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's bad first impressions, and then there's this. Class is in session, but no one's happy about it.

The ‘Community Center’, as it turned out, was little more than a banquet room off a small office. Dorian hadn’t expected much, but he’d expected a bit more than that. This place was a port town, after all, and brought in how much money through their fisheries? How was it this place was so small and... grizzled? It set Dorian’s teeth on edge. Nothing about this made him feel... safe. He felt isolated, cold and agitated as he watched their production team jump from vans and trucks, as other men drove up in beat up cars and got out to shake their hands.

Dorian didn’t know any of them.

So he went inside where it was warmer and gritted his teeth at the smell of stale coffee and salt air. That was a scent he was going to have to get used to, he had a feeling, since the belly of The Herald smelled exactly like it, only with undertones of rubber and bait and... man. This was something else. This was the first morning of the rest of his career, such as it was, and all he felt was a gnawing sort of emptiness in his stomach.

Dorian stood up straight, though, and folded his arms across his chest as he watched a few of the (he assumed) boat crewmen enter. They were a rough looking bunch already: strong, weathered, aloof. He couldn’t keep from looking at them though, and in his mind a hundred different ideas that weren’t a _reality show_ filled his head. There was so much potential here, so much for good stories about men who worked long and hard for whatever reasons they had to do this job, and suddenly stationary cameras and quippy voiceover didn’t seem like enough.

As the room began to fill, Dorian made his way over to the table that had several giant urns of coffee and doughnuts in trays. Varric was already there, laughing with Trevelyan and a man Dorian had seen the day before but hadn’t spoken to, and he thought it might not be so bad to start there. So he came up, arms uncrossing so he could tuck his hands in the pockets of his slacks, and offered one of his patented Dorian Pavus smiles.

“I’m guessing taking one of these urns as a mug is frowned upon?” he asked.

Varric turned, let out a raspy and deep kind of laugh, and lifted a large hand to smack Dorian hard on the back, “He’s got a sense of humor before nine in the morning! Didn’t think it was possible!”

\----

Cullen met Trev outside the center, grunted a hello and they made their way in together. He scanned the room quickly, and it seemed like everyone was there. The captains and deck bosses of all the ships featured on the show were, anyway. Captain Garrett Hawke and deck boss Carver, brothers, of The Sundermount nodded from the corner they'd claimed for themselves, while the deck boss of The Kaaras, Krem, was busy trying to wake his captain, Bull, with cups of coffee and doughnuts. Cullen had no idea how those guys were so successful, but they managed to make quota faster than everyone nearly every season. The Orlesian boat, The Celene, was represented by Captain Gaspard and her deck boss, Michele. Good enough fellows, Cullen thought, though he didn't know them very well. The rest of their crews stumbled in, some happy to have the “day off” for this training and orientation and some just as annoyed at the loss of a day of work as Cullen himself was.

As for the crew of _Frozen Bounty_ , Cullen couldn't say. There were many familiar faces from seasons past, but there were several new ones, too. He assumed they all came together from the shitty little motel that was the only option so near the port. They usually did anyway.

He and Trev made a beeline for the coffee table. It was bound to be no better than caffeinated brown water, but at this point, he'd take what he could get. Cream and sugar made everything better, anyway, and there was at least enough of that to go around. Varric was already there, drinking the horrible stuff black and working on a bear claw the size of his face. If Cullen had already had a cup of coffee, he may have found it funny. As it stood, he just mumbled, “Varric,” and set about making his own cup.

“It's your big day, Curly,” Varric greeted him, “Do The Herald proud.”

Cullen took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. Fowl stuff. Apparently, cream and sugar _didn't_ fix everything. “I'll do her proud out on the water,” he replied, forcing more nasty coffee down his throat.

Trev and Varric struck up a light conversation. They were both good first thing, which annoyed Cullen to no end today. It was far too early for jokes and laughter, if anyone bothered to ask for his opinion. No one had, though, so he tuned their chipper banter out as he went back over his - ugh - lesson plans.

Until an unfamiliar voice drew him from his thoughts, that was. Something about taking the whole pot of coffee off - _just fucking try it, buddy_ \- and Varric made some comment back. Amber eyes regarded the newcomer over the papers Cullen had been reading. Oiled hair, handlebar mustache, slacks? Maker, was that… _eyeliner?_

_On shore production crew, gotta be,_ Cullen thought as he regarded the man with the smooth bronze skin - too smooth to have ever sailed, not these conditions, anyway - and flashing white smile. _He can't be… surely he's not going on a boat?_

Oh well, he had a full day of material to review with a headache and only 15 or so minutes to go. He raised an eyebrow at the intrusion and grunted in response before his eyes went back to the page. Varric and Trev could schmooze, if that's what was needed. Cullen wasn't interested in anything other than getting this day done and over with.

\----

What a warm and welcoming greeting. Dorian blinked once, smiled to Trev, and shook his hand. That was a bit better. “Good to see you again, Captain,” Dorian greeted and offered another smile.

“Trev, please,” the other man laughed as he shook Dorian's hand and gestured to Cullen, “I don’t think you met Cullen yesterday. Too much going on.” He gestured to the blond Varric had addressed as Curly, and suddenly that comment yesterday made a bit of sense. “This is my deck boss, Cullen. I’m sure you two will be fast friends.”

One elegant eyebrow arched, and Dorian licked his lips before he held out the hand Trev had just let go of, “The illusive Curly?” he asked with another smile, “Dorian Pavus. I hear you’re the one running the show here this morning?”

\----

_My boat. He's on my boat. Of course he's on my boat._

His jaw worked as he fought to swallow that vile stuff that was trying to pass for coffee. Suddenly, that headache seemed to throb more intensely behind his eyes as he took a harder look at this… Dorian Pavus. He seemed fit enough, though Cullen suspected that was from time at a gym rather than any physical labor. In fact, Cullen would give his back two molars if the man had ever held a job resembling anything like physical labor. His hands were too smooth, his hair was too perfect, his smile was too… what was the word for it? Shallow? Fake? It didn't seem genuine, anyway. His eyes didn't reflect it, which was the way of those producers that came to negotiate contracts with Trev. _Part of the business. He doesn't want to be here, and that's dangerous._

Grouse as he did about the cameramen and the whole… frivolity around the show, at least those guys _wanted_ to do it. This man, Pavus, looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here, despite the smooth voice and dazzling smile. _Dangerous,_ Cullen thought again. _I'll have to keep an eye on him, too._

_And what did he just call me? Curly? Oh, no. No, no, no._ Cullen grinned, though it was a feral thing, all bared teeth and no humor, and his eyes flashed. That shit was getting cut off with a quickness.

“Cullen,” he corrected with a firm voice. “Always ‘Cullen’ to you.” He let that sink in for a moment before continuing, “You're on my boat, hm? Then I suggest you pay attention - _close attention_ \- to what I say. You're taking your life into your hands here, Mr. Pavus.”

Maybe if the guy was scared shitless by the end of the day, he'd quit. That would be one less headache for Cullen, anyway.

\----

Dorian blinked and turned to look down at Varric who just chuckled and patted Dorian’s shoulder again. He was starting to feel that cold and spiraling sensation again, deep in his chest and stomach, and that reality sank in again. Still, he wasn’t about to let some rude lout ruin this job. He needed it, for all of his inner turmoil about it, and so long as he only had to _watch_ the man and not talk to him it would be fine. He wasn’t Dorian’s boss.

“I’m aware,” he deadpanned back before he gave the man, _Cullen_ , a look. Arsehole.

He turned and made for the little group of producers with the firm intention of making the morning slightly more bearable. It took a moment and a few quick words before they were laughing and making room for him, and Dorian cast a pointed glance backward at the figure in that rangy knit cap before he settled himself. They had a lot to get through all day, and Dorian wasn’t about to let that jerk ruin it for him. So long as he had... people, people who smiled and laughed with him, it wasn’t so bad. He could charm the pants off anyone, figuratively and literally, and it was only a matter of time.

Then it was time to start, and Dorian folded his arms over his chest as everyone got refills of coffee and sat. Other groups, like the one with Qunari captain who laughed and joked with the others, seemed far more amenable. Why couldn’t he have been put there? At least they seemed welcoming. Trev was a nice man, easy on the eyes with his ginger hair pulled back in a ponytail at the base of his neck and a smile, but the other crews seemed to enjoy each other.

Dorian could remember being on teams like that. He’d been there once upon a time, with people like him who wanted the same things, now he had to watch at this surly motherfucker stand there and look like he wanted to be anywhere else. How disrespectful, really. This wasn’t Dorian’s first choice for a job, but he knew he’d do it well. This guy? Already he could imagine how much skimming over was probably going to happen so he could go back and... do whatever it was arseholes with hats did.

\----

“That… wasn't being _nice_ , Cullen,” Trev said coolly and gave his deck boss a frown.

“Did you see him? The man doesn't belong on a crab boat… even less than the rest of these assholes. No offense, Varric.”

“None taken,” Varric chuckled, “I think I'll find the kid and grab a seat.” The dwarf paused before he walked away. “He's not bad guy. Give him a chance.”

“He called me “Curly,’” Cullen muttered to Varric’s retreating back.

“And there we have it. Pride. Wounded. Come on, it's not all that bad,” Trev offered, “Varric was new once, too. Shit, I remember your first day on the boat…”

“Yeah, but that wasn't my first day on _any_ boat. Just The Herald,” Cullen retorted.

Trev just shrugged as the producers walked to the little platform and started introducing the captains and deck bosses from all the boats. The captains all had a little something to say by way of greeting - it was the same shit every year, down to the way they introduced him.

“Cullen Stanton Rutherford, deck boss of The Herald…”

He held up a hand and grit his teeth. “Every. Fucking. Year,” he muttered, and Trev chuckled and clapped him on the back.

“At least they didn't call you Curly,” he said with a wink and went up to say his piece.

Introductions done, it was his turn. Cullen closed his eyes, took a breath, and stepped in front of the platform. A stage, no matter how sad and small, was not where he wanted to be right now.

Apparently, the audience didn't get the hint that class was about to be in session. After the producers finished their piece and stepped stepped down, a buzz had started - low at first, but by the time Cullen had taken his place, it had become chatter. Cullen didn't yell. He didn't call them to attention. Either they'd pay attention or they wouldn't. He wasn't going anywhere. He had all day

He stood there, stern faced and stiff, and allowed his eyes to settle over the little crowd. One by one, they felt his gaze, and the room first filled with shushes, then grew silent. _There we go._

Amber eyes sought out the two cameramen assigned to The Herald. Varric wasn't as much of a concern, but he wanted to know where that Pavus fellow was. He wanted to make sure those bright eyes were on him the whole time. Maker help the man if they weren't. Cullen found him, but didn't let his gaze linger. He just marked the man’s location for… periodic attention checks.

Satisfied that everyone was now listening, Cullen cleared his throat.

“Morning,” he greeted roughly. “As you heard, I'm Cullen Rutherford, deck boss of The Herald, home port of Denerim. And you're all here so I can try to stuff a lifetime of fishing know-how into your heads in one day. I hope you all brought your elfroot. This might hurt.”

_Them and me both._

\----

Ugh. This was so melodramatic. Dorian knew it was dangerous, yes, any idiot knew that. Any idiot who looked at the boats and the weather and watched literally one episode of the show knew. All this? What was the point? What was being scared about it going to do but make people a liability because of it? It didn’t sit well with Dorian. He didn’t like scare tactics and he didn’t like being talked down to. Both at once? He immediately sort of hated this... Cullen. Curly. Whatever. Dorian had already promised himself he was going to use Varric’s little nickname regardless of that growl.

He folded one leg up so his ankle rested on his knee and cocked an eyebrow when the man on “stage” caught his eye. Was he... Maker, was that arsehole checking up on him? What was his _problem_? Of all the fucking people to have to work with, right? Dorian had dealt with shitty, uppity directors before. He’d worked with people with too much vision and not enough common sense, no sense of humanity when it came to work loads, but he’d never had someone get up and act like this before.

It left a sour taste in Dorian’s mouth, which was turned down into a frown as he listened to this.

\----

That pounding behind his eyes wasn't relenting. If anything, it was getting worse - the product of not enough sleep and too much to do. But here he was, not doing any of those things. _A waste_ , Cullen thought and looked out into the faces that were looking back at him. He shook his head. _No, no. Whether I think they should be here or not, they are. This is important - they have to make it back, too._

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand and then rubbed his face roughly. He had to do this - even if it was just one day of instruction, it was one day more than a lot of them had. If something he showed them today saved just one person from injury or worse, it would be worth it. He could dismiss his personal feelings about their presence for one day. He could do that. Now wasn't the time be angry or dismissive, he knew that… but that fucking headache wasn't making it any easier on him.

Worse, many of those faces, the ones who'd done this before, had already zoned out. He sighed as he took in the glazed eyes and vacant expressions of the veteran cameramen. They'd heard all this before and, clearly, thought they didn't need to listen. They were here to check it off their list: yearly safety refresher, done. _Not good._ He had to find a way to make them all listen. Once, before, he could have done it. It would have come naturally - he'd inspired many men and women to face their fears and charge forward, even when hope had seemed lost. _And how did that work out for you?_

Not well, actually. In the end, it had all fallen down. But he could draw on some of that old strength to get them listening. Maybe.

He drained the rest of the coffee in his cup - cold by now and even worse for it, but he needed the caffeine. With a roll of his shoulders, he pulled the red cap from his head and stuffed it in his pocket. Maybe that would help ease some of the headache. Doubtful, but it was something. He ran a hand through his hair before continuing.

“I'm looking out at you now, and I'm seeing plenty of familiar faces. You've all been here before, you know what I'm going to say. You're gonna go to your boats after this and greet your crew and, if I know some of you, feel like you've wasted a day going over things you've heard each and every year since you started. And, shit, I don't blame you. It's early, and we have a long day ahead of us. A day you could be spending setting your gear just like I could be setting mine. You're old hands at this, right? You _know_. And for those of you who _are_ new,” he took a breath and narrowly avoided seeking out his new cameraman, though he was sorely tempted to do just that.

“You've probably at least seen the show. You feel like you have a good handle on what could happen. Yeah, there's weather. There's long hours and not enough sleep. Tempers run high and accidents could happen, but you're competent human beings, right? Surely, if the shit hits the fan, you'll do the smart thing, right? You're sitting there thinking, ‘It’s dangerous, I get it. Tell me what I need to know so we can get out of here already.’” He paused there to breathe and make sure people were following. Whether they knew it or not, people were nodding, agreeing with him that perhaps he was beating a dead horse. Some of the more experienced cameramen… those that had seen the _real_ shit, though, they weren't. Their eyes told him they were remembering a time when maybe they didn't make the right choices because they were scared or unaware or both. That was good. Those guys would be wary. The rest, though…

“You'd be wrong, of course. And I'm not trying to be… condescending, but unless you've lived through it, you _don't really know_. Unless you know how it feels to be hit by a rogue wave and tossed clear across the deck, unless you've felt thousands of gallons of near freezing water sweep you right off your feet, unless you've felt that cold rush of adrenaline and fear take over and blank out your mind, you don't really know. Everything I say, outside of some fishing terms maybe, will seem like common sense. And it _will_ be. Here, where you're relatively warm and on the land and in no danger, you'll think ‘ _well, no shit don't stand in the lines’_ or ‘ _of course I'll put on my fucking survival suit.’_ In the thick of it, though, you'll be running on emotion, on fear. Your mind _will not_ engage at the level it's at right now. You can't predict how you'll react under stress unless you've been there. All I can do today is give you what you need to know and _practice it_. Over and over, until you're rolling your eyes at me and wishing I'd just let you go.”

He was slowly pacing by now, words rolling off his tongue, hands moving in time to punctuate certain points, and meeting the eyes of as many people as he could. It was almost amazing, how easily he'd fallen into old ways. He'd given this speech before, of course, just with a different threat and in another lifetime. Everything he said was truth - he'd learned it himself under actual fire. No matter how prepared he'd thought he was with all the drills and all the exercises, that moment between life and death was the true test. That's when you learned who you were, in the face of that panic. He'd seen the most promising soldiers crack and break in that moment. He'd seen those that had been written off rise to the occasion and become heroes. _You just don't know until you're there._

“I get it. I'm with you, but trust me when I say that _complacency_ is your biggest enemy out there. Not the weather. Not the tons of steel stacked on deck. Not me. _Complacency._ From the greenest of the green to the most experienced deckhand on the fleet, I _guarantee_ you that the moment you _think_ you have control, the sea will rip the carpet out from under you, and you'll be rolling wild. We're all guilty of it. _I'm_ guilty of it, even now. We take comfort in process and routine, but never forget - never forget - that comfort, that control _is an illusion_. So be aware. Keep your eyes open. Listen to your crew. Do what you need to do, but never forget where you are - on the boat and in the world. Look out for one another. I know your producers don't want you to interact with us. They _want_ to see those moments of danger on camera. _I say_ that's bullshit. If you see something, for the love of Andraste, say something.”

Amber eyes sought out the two cameramen that would be on The Herald, and then they _did_ settle on the new guy - the man who stood out like a beacon, the man who sent danger signals shooting fire through Cullen's aching head. “From the moment you set foot on your assigned boat, _you are crew_.” _For better or worse,_ he thought before letting his gaze move back over the crowd.

“Your voice could save a life. And our promise to you - _my_ promise to you - is that we'll be looking out for you, too. In the end, out there on the deep, all we have is each other. So, keep a wary eye open and, Maker willing, we'll all make it out of this whole.”

Cullen let that statement, that promise, hang in the air for a moment before moving on. “That said, let's start with some terms so we're all speaking the same language _._ ”

\----

The longer this went on, the more Dorian’s jaw hurt from how hard it was clenched. Around him, the more veteran camera guys snickered and Dorian could hear the beginnings of stories that started with ‘you remember when…’ and he was torn between listening there and actually paying attention to this fear factor insanity _Cullen_ was spitting. More than that, he was interested in the crowd around them all. Every now and again, grey eyes would lift to look up at the insufferable jackass onstage, but for the most part he studied everyone else. By now he knew the difference between boat and production crews both by process of elimination and by look. The boat crewmen did just as much settling back and idle chitchat as the producers did, though there were a few faces in there that looked a bit pale and... yes, scared.

Another look around, and Dorian bent to dig in his bag to pull out a notepad, and as he looked around he couldn’t help but write down the reactions he saw. It was a good angle to start with, and while he’d already been prepped with a list of ‘good interview questions’ for the guys on deck (how many times can someone ask ‘are you tired/cold/annoyed?’ before it just got stupid?) he wanted to maybe do more than just that. Though if what the arsehole said was true, and Dorian was mostly certain he was being genuine... if in a way that didn’t sit well with him, but genuine regardless, he was probably going to have to learn to judge moods and figure out when it was right to ask questions and when it was right to just be a silent observer. Judging by the scowls and gruff natures he’d been shown already, it was probably going to be ‘silent observer’ mode for a good portion of this job.

Whatever. Most producers weren’t interviewers in this sense anyway. Reality tv had poisoned the term, made them look like devils with agendas, and Dorian really didn’t like that. He was there to put his mark on _something_ so he could hopefully have something to show for himself at the end of all this, and not ask a bunch of agitated guys who were bigger than him whether or not they were tired after being up for forty hours. Dorian was proud, not stupid.

Finally, though, it seemed like this introduction was finished so they could actually get down to the meat of it. The training was probably good, actually, since it had been a long time since Dorian had taken a CPR class or any kind of real first aid or... whatever. At least he wanted to be prepared should something happen, since he had a feeling that, despite that little feel-good bullshit about ‘we’re in this together’ and ‘we’ll look out for you too,’ if it came down to it, there was no way any of these men would step in for them. Maybe Varric and the others who had been doing it for a few years that had the rapport, he could see that, but Dorian knew he was alone. None of them, he could pretty much peg immediately, would do shit for him. So he needed to be in control for himself.

Maker help any of the new kids working the actual boat, too, come to think of it.

He scribbled a bit in the notebook as he gauged the reactions across the room, shaking his head and muttering under his breath, then sighed. There really were a lot of questions and a lot of things Dorian didn’t know, and while it was important for him to get all this safety shit out of the way he also didn’t want to be there to be partaking. He would have loved a few minutes to just take in the reaction because some of them were... moving. Not his own, he knew that, but some of the guys he was figuring were new just looked in awe of the man talking to them. Probably out of fear since the man was terrible, but in awe regardless.

He wished he could have had his camera, just the regular flash photography and not anything recording, so he could capture those little moments. That was the most important thing at the moment. Pot, rope, crab, boat, deck, blah blah blah. Dorian knew a few of these apparently very important terms from having done a sailing class back when he was younger, and he found more had apparently stayed with him than he thought considering he spent the majority of that time with his head over the side and being sick until his stomach was completely empty. Still, it was a point in his own personal favor. He wasn’t stupid, and he actually knew _something_ despite what that man up there would probably believe, and he felt prouder for it.

Now he just... really wished he had his camera, though. Or, at least, he wished he had it where he could get to it. This whole meeting situation would have been an interesting angle to take, after all.

\----

The morning dragged on in a haze of _definitions_. Cullen was aware the material was dry, and any traction he may have gained… if any… was lost completely as soon as he asked them to turn to page two of their handouts to go over terms both general to the boat and specific to crabbing. It took too long, far too long, and he was boring _himself_ to tears. Without distraction, all he could think about was his pounding head and the fact that that Pavus prick wasn't paying an ounce of Maker-damned attention. By the end of the terms section, he was speaking through gritted teeth - partly from the pain, but mostly because his new cameraman, his incredibly fucking _green_ cameraman seemed more interested in the people around him than shit that could actually be _useful_ when they shipped out the day after tomorrow. Fat lot of good watching the camera guy from another boat would do him if The Herald rolled or the dogs let loose and a pot went wild.

A part of him, a small, mean, petty part of him wanted to embarrass the shit out of the man by calling him out. Cullen was doing this for _them_. He knew how to stay alive out there. His mettle had long since been tested and proven true. He really didn't need this shit.

But he went on. And on. By the end of the terms section, he was sick of his own voice and deeply frustrated with the whole thing. It _would_ be someone whose life he was responsible for fucking off and wasting an opportunity to actually learn something useful, wouldn't it?

After the terms, he spent some time on the anatomy of a crab boat, pointing out the general layout and differences of each of the four boats highlighted on the show. They all did things just a little differently, and while it was really up to the deck bosses on each boat to give a more clear picture, he thought it prudent to give a high level overview. That brought him to… _Maker, it's only fucking 9:00._

Luckily for Cullen's pounding head and now frazzled nerves, next up was an hour-long video on the history of the crab industry. It was the same one they showed every year, and included a trite and grating little “tribute” to those who'd fallen in past years. It was nice enough, but it always got under his skin. Still, that was an hour he didn't have to think or speak, so he gratefully wheeled the cart with the TV out and pressed play. That done, he moved to lower the lights and then made a beeline back to that horrid coffee. At least it was something. He needed something.

Standing up in front of people, being _on_ like that… it took a lot out of him on good days. He could speak clearly and confidently for hours about the things he knew and loved, sure, but at the end, he'd always needed to escape someplace open and _alone_ to regroup. He didn't really have that option here, so he just mixed up another cup of coffee, pulled an empty chair next to a window on the side of the room, and promptly rested his head in his hands, only moving momentarily to take gulps of coffee until that was gone. _Elfroot. After I made that comment about elfroot, I don't fucking have any._

When the video finished, Cullen decided he couldn't be in that room any more. He needed to be outside, just for a little while. All those people watching him, it was too much like before. And then there was the one who pointedly _wasn't_ watching him, and he didn't know which bothered him more. Either way, it felt like they were all stealing his air, even in that relatively large room.

He rose to turn the lights back on and blinked a few times at the sudden brightness. “Alright, you lot. Time for a break. Be back here in 15 to start talking first aid.”

Cullen was the first out of the room, down the dimly lit hall, and out into the mid-morning sun. The cold was bracing, refreshing, and he felt better as soon as he was in it, salt air in his lungs. He stood off to the side and lit a cigarette and wished the Maker would just make it so he didn't have to go back in there. Or at least that He would take this fucking headache and shove it up His holy ass.

\----

Thank the Maker for small miracles. Though, admittedly, that little documentary (ironically enough) had actually been quite interesting. Dorian found it a lot more palatable than that introduction and dry delivery on nautical terms. He’d been flipping through the little handbook they’d been given, looked through the various differences of the boats between keeping up with watching the reactions, and... it was interesting. It wasn’t anything he would have looked up on his own because why would he, but it was all very... new.

He’d picked up his bag and headed outside once the break was called since there was no amount of coffee that was going to keep him going if he didn’t move around a little. He could drink more when they got settled in again, but his eyes had started to droop there toward the end of that video and he was glad for the slightly bracing bite of cold air outside. It made his eyes tear up as his contacts dried for just a moment, and Dorian wiped at his face as he fished in his bag for a small case that housed his cigarettes. People were filing out just for that, it seemed, and Dorian cast a glance backward with a smile to a few of the other producers before he made his way up and around the building.

He just needed a minute. Something quiet to clear his head and then he’d be ready for all this. The part they were getting to now, the actual _safety_ training was where his real attention was focused. History and all that were great, but Dorian was more concerned with wanting to know how to save someone’s life should they... need it? Not that he had any designs that they’d let a _producer_ touch a member of the sanctified crew, but it was better to know than not.

So he pulled out the little metal case, and his lighter and flicked the case open so he could pull out one of the small cigars he was so fond of these days. They smelled of vanilla and clove, and Dorian loved them. He’d brought far more than his fair share in his luggage, and now was probably the first of many to wake him up and calm his nerves. As he inhaled, he closed his eyes, and when he exhaled and watched the wind take the smoke he frowned a bit.

Oh, but who should be out there too? Maker help him. Maybe the jackass would ignore him. Probably would. He didn’t strike Dorian as the polite type.

\----

_Well, shit._

There went his time alone to regroup. For a moment, he wondered if he'd leave if Cullen ignored him. It was childish, and an unsustainable strategy to boot. He couldn't very well ignore the man when they were on Cullen's deck, could he? No, he imagined there’d be a lot of supplemental lessons with this one, considering the fact that he'd spent nearly that whole time looking around the room and scribbling notes that were most assuredly not pertinent to the material.

He nodded and took a drag of his cigarette. Cullen only smoked during the season, usually didn't even start until the first bad string drove him to it, but something told him he'd need it today, and he was grateful for that little voice. Whatever it was this Pavus fellow smoked was… cloying. Of course, he couldn't smoke normal cigarettes, he had to have those awful clove things. And he also had to be in Cullen's space to do it, apparently. Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose again. Maker, those cigarettes - or whatever you wanted to call them - were making things worse upstairs.

_Well, fuck it. I'm not moving. I was here first._

Childish again, and Cullen bit his tongue to hold back a litany of snide comments, on topics from the fancy but ultimately worthless shoes the man wore to the obvious fact that he thought he already knew enough to space out in lessons.

_Be nice, Cullen._

Trev’s voice was in his head, and good thing, too. For his captain, he could… try.

“Not a terribly interesting start, I'm afraid,” he offered. It was both the truth and an acknowledgement that the man wasn't actually paying a lick of attention. But he was _being nice_ , so it was as close as he'd get to calling him out on it… until the inevitable fuck up on deck, anyway.

\----

Dorian looked up and cocked an eyebrow, “No, not... not really,” he answered, “but the little video was pretty good. Always interesting to learn some things you don’t know.” He took another drag from his cigarette and held it for a long moment, “but the whole terms of endearment section was a good quiz. I, uh... took a boating course way back when, nothing like this obviously, but it was good to see if I could figure things out as we went along. Didn’t do too badly.”

With a quick flick of his fingers to get some of the ash off the end of his cigarette Dorian turned to look at the man. He looked hungover, but that probably wasn’t the case. This early with shitty coffee, though? They probably all looked much the same. “Headache?” he asked as he gestured to how Cullen pinched at his nose, “I’ve got... well, you did say to have elfroot, right? Did you want a few?”

Perhaps plying the monster with something nice would do... something.

\----

Cullen stifled a laugh that came out as a muffled snort. Of course. The _one_ thing he wanted - needed - to make the rest of the day bearable was being offered by the one guy he really didn't want to owe anything. The Maker must have been paying him back for that “stuff it up His holy ass” thought earlier. _Doesn't He just work in mysterious ways?_

Still, as much as he knew he needed it, as much as his pounding head screamed out for it, he actually considered declining. He hated looking weak in front of anyone, least of all some overconfident snotty camera guy. A boating course, right. More likely a pleasure cruise around some private island, by the look of him. Warm seas and a gentle breeze for the man in front of him.

_Pride. Wounded._

Trev’s voice again, Maker take the man. The benefits of taking something from this guy - namely, being able to make it through this class without murdering someone or passing out - outweighed the pain to his pride. For now.

“Bad back,” he offered by way of explanation, “Gives me a lot of headaches. I can usually handle it, but today… anyway, if you can spare some elfroot, I'd be grateful.” And, oh, that rubbed him the wrong way, but he was being _nice_ and asking for a favor all at once. What could he do?

\----

“Yeah, of course,” Dorian answered before he put his cigarette between his lips and dug around in his bag for the box of elfroot. He’d also packed a lot of that on his executive producer’s warning, so there was plenty. He pulled out one of the still full blister packs and held it out to Cullen, “here,” he offered, “then you’ll have some for later. Nothing worse than the afternoon low when they wear off, right?”

His free hand pulled the cigarette from his lips and he studied the other man’s face. He was... well, Cullen was very unlike anyone Dorian had ever met. That was probably by design, since he didn’t usually go around talking to people who looked at him like he was shit on the bottom of their shoe, but there was something about this man that was compelling. Compelling in a wanting to punch him a bit kind of way, but compelling nonetheless. Maybe... maybe the morning was just bad.

“I heard you don’t like new guys,” he commented after a moment, “and I’m... sorry I had to get assigned to you. But it is what it is, and I’ll stay out of your way. I’m sure that’s what you’d like to hear from me, isn’t it?”

\----

Two elfroot tabs were popped out of their packaging and in Cullen's palm in the blink of an eye. He swallowed them dry, grimacing a bit as they made their way down, but thankful for them. He pocketed the remainder as the other man continued speaking.

_What I'd like to hear?_

“No,” he replied with a cocked eyebrow, “I don't want you to tell me what you _think_ I want to hear. I want you to tell me what you actually mean. And I'll give you the same courtesy, believe me.” He paused for another draw of his cigarette before continuing. “And yeah, it'll get nasty out there and we'll butt heads, I can guarantee it. But I'd rather be told the truth than fed some… bullshit line to make me think everything's ok while you go off and get yourself… or others... hurt. So, truth. Always.”

\----

Well, that was pointless.

He looked down at his half-finished cigarette and dropped it to the ground so he could put it out with his shoe. His stomach was in too many knots about all this as it was, and Dorian really didn’t want to have to talk to this man anymore. “I’m sure you’ll tell me what you think _often_ ,” he stated before he picked up the butt and closed his bag over, “and I’ll start the staying out of your way right now, and save us the trouble.”

Maker just let him get through this safety thing so he could be literally anywhere else. At least the safety thing would keep him from worrying he’d made a mistake. There was no backing out now, and Dorian knew it, and he wasn’t about to let himself get ruffled by some jackass who thought he was better than Dorian by sheer virtue of their careers. Dorian could respect people who did things like this for a living, and he respected the men perhaps more than he respected the show for trying to glorify it into someone that seemed like a fun adventure instead of a life threatening means to live, but he wouldn’t respect someone who had no understanding of his life and looked at him like he was disposable because he wasn’t some... fisherman. Though if he were, a ‘greenhorn’ like they apparently called them, it would probably be much the same.

Dorian went back inside and settled himself at the little table that had been set up for their boat. Already a few of the others had gone back in, Varric and Trev included, as well as what looked to be a younger man. The, Dorian assumed, greenhorn. The poor kid looked pale and sick already. Having to deal with _that arsehole_ as a boss? Dorian could understand why. So he took his spot next to Varric, painted an easy smile on his face for both his producer colleague and the captain of the vessel he was going to be on, and tried to not let himself get ruffled.

It wasn’t worth it to get ruffled. It would just make Dorian make bad choices, and he didn’t have the luxury of space for that anymore.

“So is this the mouth to mouth with a dummy portion of the day?” he asked with a grin, “I hope they’ve at least been sterilized.”

“Oh they were,” Trev answered with a like grin, “once upon a time. Now we keep them with the bait bags. So they have company. You know how it is.”

\----

_Fuck._

This day was just getting better with every passing moment. Cullen had just been… honest. He was just telling the man a fact - they'd butt heads. It was fucking inevitable on a boat. Lifelong friends eventually snapped at one another under those conditions. Shit, he and Trev went at it at least twice a season, and they'd been crabbing together for almost 8 years now. All he was trying to say was that he wanted the truth. He always wanted the truth, even if it was a headache.

But even when Cullen was trying, it seemed he couldn't help but be who he was. And who he was was apparently unsatisfactory to Dorian Pavus.

_Well, fuck him._ If that's all it took to get him riled up, a little honesty, Cullen wouldn't be bothered with _trying_ any more. He'd expect Mr. Pavus to stay out of his way, and Cullen would do his best to keep him safe and alive, whether the man wanted him to or not. They didn't have to be friends. They didn't have to like each other. It was clear that wasn't going to happen.

He twisted the butt of his cigarette in his fingers until the embers fell out to the pavement below. He threw the rest in the trash and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

_I didn't thank him for the medicine._

That momentary pang of guilt only served to frustrate him more. He shouldn't have taken anything from him. But he did. He did, and now he felt beholden to the man for a few tablets of elfroot.

A scowl creased his face as he walked into the hall. The rows of chairs had been replaced by tables for each boat, and Cullen moved toward the table that had been set for The Herald. He stopped before he reached it, though, and just watched for a moment. They were all laughing, having a good time, even the man who'd put that scowl on Cullen's face in the first place. It was… disorienting. Those were _his_ people. His people laughing and smiling with this frustrating newcomer. He felt like an outsider, and an odd little spike of something bitter and lonely worked its way through his chest.

_Fine,_ he thought as he turned on his heels to go back to the front of the room. _Fucking fine._

He didn't like this. Of course, he didn't like the show, the way it portrayed him, or the way it painted his way of life. But most of all, he didn't like the way he'd been pushed so utterly and completely off kilter from the moment he'd met Dorian Pavus.

\----

A quick look at Cullen and how the man seemed to be practically seething already had Trev on the defensive. Whatever set Cullen off so soon was going to lead into a bad few days, and that wasn’t what they needed. Starting off seasons on good notes and good terms and hopefully no black eyes was important. So he looked up from where Barris and Varric were already giving the new deck greenhorn, Alistair, a good ribbing and waved at Cullen to get his attention. When that didn’t work, he got up from his chair, “I’ll be right back guys,” he told them to a rousing bit of laughter and jogged up to where Cullen was.

“Hey,” he greeted, “are you... you look like you’re about to rip someone’s head off. What happened?” Trev looked him over again, “At least nobody fell asleep this year, right? I mean, that’s better than when Michel did it last year.”

\----

“It's not the damn class, it's…” Amber eyes strayed to the table, to Pavus, before Cullen bit his lip. Could he really tell Trev, his captain, about the juvenile shit that had been running around his head? He met Trev’s eyes before continuing, “... fine. It's fine. Just a headache. I'll be ok.”

A headache with bronze skin and coiffed hair and an air of infuriating pretentiousness, but Trev didn't need to hear that. Not yet. He'd save it for later when there wasn't an audience. Yes, later. Later he'd ask Trev to get the cameramen shuffled around. If Pavus wasn't comfortable with the bit of honesty Cullen had shown him earlier, there was no way the man would trust him. And he couldn't trust Pavus. No, this wasn't going to work. When you didn't trust the people on your boat, bad things happened. There was no room for second guessing. None.

\----

Trev turned, followed Cullen’s gaze, then sighed. They couldn’t be doing this now. “Yeah, well, it’ll be ‘it’s just a headache’ when I’m new Divine,” he pointed out, “he seems like a nice guy, alright? I know you don’t like change and everything, but it might be nice to have someone else that’s... you know, _fun_ around. He’ll get it all, and if we have any issue I’ll straighten him out or Varric will. Don’t just write him off because he’s green, we’ve got a newbie as it is and I don’t want anyone getting the idea we shit on new people just because we don’t know them. Alright?”

That was the word of it. From the Boss. Cullen was his top man in a lot of ways, and liked to think he owned that boat, but the fact of the matter was Trev had the last say. “You just go up there and do this safety thing and I’ll worry about Pavus and Theirin for now. You can have ‘em tomorrow and... make ‘em cry or whatever it is you’re going to do,” he went on, though that last part was punctuated with a grin, “now go teach us how to make out with some dummies so we can think about lunch.”

\----

Cullen was silent for a long moment, jaw clenched and teeth grinding, and he fought back a wave of retorts, each one more scathing than the last. Trev was smiling, but his green eyes were resolute. He'd decided without even hearing Cullen’s side of things. A fucking green cameraman, of all things, had brought him to this. In that moment, it didn't even matter that Cullen had problems with Pavus, it mattered that Trev was dismissing him out of hand.

“Theirin’s alright. His heart’s in the right place and he has some fucking respect for the job,” he replied quietly through clenched teeth. “That camera guy, though… I'm sorry if I place the safety of the crew above _fun_.”

With that, Cullen turned his back on his captain and went back to the front of the class to resume lessons. It was poor form. The worst, and he'd hear about it later, if he wasn't fired for it. He _hated_ how he was acting. It wasn't like him to let anger and whatever that odd twist of his heart was rule him. No one - _no one -_ had ever gotten under his skin so completely and so _quickly_.

But, provided Trev didn't send him home for his little… tantrum, it was looking like Cullen was stuck with the man. _Part of the crew, remember?_ He echoed his own words bitterly back at himself. And yes, he'd do everything in his power to make sure the smug son of a bitch made it home alright… but that didn't mean he had to like it.

At the front of the room, Cullen faced the crowd and took a breath. “Alright, alright, break’s over. Everyone send someone up to get a dummy for your table, then come on up here. The CPR procedure’s been updated this year, so all eyes on me for the demo.”

At least that damn headache was letting up.

\----

From the back of The Herald’s table, Samson half grunted, “Greenhorn!” and pointed at Alistair. The younger man sighed, already resolute in his new position, and got up to go grab the dummy. As he came up, he tried to offer Cullen a small smile before he turned back to the group at the table who were still eyeing him up.

Trev took his seat again then and leaned over to look at Dorian from behind Varric, “Hey, Dorian?” he asked softly, “everything alright?”

He looked up from where he was still scribbling a bit in his notebook, then looked over at the captain, “Yes?” he answered, “why? Is there a problem?”

“No, no,” Trev answered, “just... you know, make sure you listen to Cullen. He might come off like a dick sometimes, but he really does just want everyone to be alright.”

A hum escaped Dorian then, “I’ll keep that in mind when it’s between me and one of your giant metal contraptions.”

“Hey,” Trev’s voice was sharper and quieter, though everyone at the looked up when they heard it. All of them knew that tone of voice. It was the “don’t fuck with me” voice. “I’m not here for you two idiots to tattletale on each other,” he stated, “so whatever the fuck it is that’s crawled up you two about each other? Deal with it. Before we leave. Understand?”

Dorian’s eyes widened. He didn’t, as the captain had so colorfully put it, have anything ‘crawl up him’ about anything. Cullen, Curly, whatever the fuck his name was, just rubbed Dorian in all the wrong ways. The man made his skin prickle and his stomach twist and he hadn’t felt this strongly about anyone in a long time. That had to mean something, right? That the man was so abhorrent that he had a physical reaction to him? He was infuriating and he’d only had one and a half conversations with him.

“Fine,” Dorian answered with a tight smile, “but I’ve already tried apologizing for just being here. He didn’t seem to like it.”

“Maybe don’t be such a smug fuck, then,” Samson chuckled as they watched Alistair walk up with the dummy.

Great. This was going to be a great trip.

\----

People were bustling about, grabbing dummies for their groups, a few others shuffling towards where Cullen had placed his up on that little platform. He took the opportunity to refocus, taking several deep breaths to settle his nerves and his swirling mind. Now that he was up here, there wasn't room for… whatever _that_ was. The moment to himself and the feeling of that monster headache from the morning slipping away helped, but embarrassment at how he'd been acting, how he'd stormed away from Trev, was sinking in. How long had he fucking been doing this? More importantly, how _old_ was he? None of this was like him. _Get it together, Rutherford. So you don't think you can trust that Pavus… just watch him. Don't let him get to you. Any more than he already has._

The Theirin kid came up for The Herald. He still looked shaky, probably would until the first string was pulled and he'd settled into his place, but he was a quick study, despite all the bad jokes. His mouth ran a bit much, but Cullen assumed that was from nerves. He'd give him time before he assumed it was an actual problem.

_And why aren't you willing to give the camera guy that benefit?_ He shook his head and blinked to clear _that_ away. The guy was an ass, had basically _told_ Cullen he was lying to him - _what you'd like to hear from me -_ and then ran off when all Cullen had asked for was honesty. Of course he wasn't to be trusted. He was to be watched and measured. Clearly, he'd ingratiated himself somehow to Trev, a fact that rubbed Cullen raw. How… how could his captain not see all that smiling was an act? For whatever reason, none of the man's expressions, save the sour ones, seemed to reach his eyes, and that had put Cullen on the defensive from the beginning.

_No. Stop thinking about it._

Cullen focused on his approaching greenhorn and clapped Alistair on the back as he lifted their dummy. “Careful, the bastards are heavy. I'm sure Delrin - Barris - appreciates the break,” he said with a lopsided smile. The kid grinned back and turned to rejoin the group. That was better. Cullen felt more like himself, less off balance. _I'll have to apologize to Trev later_. But that little outburst, as childish as it had been… had actually helped.

He pushed down the lingering unease and stood to address the group. Time to get down to it.

“Ok, guys. You should all have at least one dummy per boat. There’re a few more up here, so after the demo, go ahead and grab those if you can. The more practice the better.” He paused, and a little box beside the dummies caught his attention. “And we _will_ be practicing mouth to mouth, so grab a thing of sanitizer from the box when I'm done. Unless you don't mind swapping spit with your crew… though I'd grab _several_ bottles if I was on The Kaaras. Just to be safe.” He grinned then - actually grinned - as Bull threw him a rude gesture.

“He's not wrong,” Krem called out with a laugh, “You don't want to go after the chief, believe me.”

As Krem and Bull started their own back and forth to several laughs, Cullen felt himself settle more. The morning had been awful, but maybe he could turn this around. If he threw himself into the instruction and didn't think about it, he thought he could. It would hardly be the first time he'd had to divorce himself of… personal feelings to get a job done, after all.

“Alright, circle up. Make sure you can see me,” he called out. While everyone situated themselves in a rough semicircle around him, he pulled off his sweater and pushed the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt up past his elbows. That was partly so everyone could see his hands and arms as he worked, but also because it was just so damn hot with all those bodies so close. He scratched absently over the insignia of the Templars - the flaming sword in silhouette - tattooed on the outside of his left forearm. It was just one of several reminders of the life he'd led before, etched permanently on his skin.

“So, the hardest thing about CPR is the timing. You're gonna be working quick and keeping count. There’re a few things that’ll help you remember what to do, though. The first is C-A-B… compression, airway, breathing. That's the order of events, always, and when you get to B, go right back to C and start over.”

He went through the demo, telling them _when_ to administer CPR and showing them things like where to place their hands, how they had to lock their elbows and place their shoulders _directly_ in line over them, how to press their upper bodies down with enough force to compress the chest by two inches, how to tilt the person's head back to clear the airway before pinching nostrils and breathing for them. He talked them through the process several times with an even tone and patiently answered questions as they came before he finally called it good enough.

“Now, take 45 minutes, break into smaller groups if you have a spare dummy, and practice. Seasoned guys, don't be assholes. Let your greenhorns have more practice,” he paused and gave Samson a pointed look before winking at him and continuing, “Before we break for lunch, I have to see you all do it correctly, so I'll be walking around to help and observe. Let me know when you're ready so I can tick your name off.”

And with that, the group broke for individual practice, and Cullen could take a minute to breathe before making the rounds. It was almost like he _wasn't_ acutely aware of Pavus’ grey eyes on him the whole time. Almost.

\----

The CPR was about as good as it was going to get, actually. Dorian watched, paid attention, and actually threw himself into doing it when they were given leave to do so. Theirs was a smaller crew than a few of the others who had almost ten guys, so justifying another dummy really wasn’t going to work, but it seemed like the ones who’d done it before were keen to let both Alistair and Dorian work a bit while they watched and corrected. Some of them were still a bit gruff, but they were coming around a lot faster than Dorian expected, and even with a rather serious thing going on, they lightened a little with jokes and gentle teasing.

Dorian sat up and set to pushing the sleeves of his own sweater up as well. Sitting there and watching a movie in the dark was pretty alright, but getting up and down on the floor and table to do all this made the room hot. Too many bodies all doing too many things, and Dorian was starting to sweat a bit.

This, however, gave him something else to focus on. Minutes ago, Trev had been giving him the Boss glare, and Dorian had worried he’d pissed the man off enough that what little rapport he’d had was gone. Not so. They all teased each other and laughed together in a way that Dorian hadn’t expected. Of course, he was still ‘the new guy’ but they were actually more welcoming than he’d expected. Well, most of them. Dorian could still feel those brown eyes boring into him whenever Cullen would turn their way. He knew the man was watching him, making sure he did everything right and looking for faults, but Dorian elected to ignore it as best he could. The man showing them how to do all this was just a... teacher. Letting some prideful jackass possibly keep him from learning something important wasn’t going to help anyone.

The other guys waved Cullen over so they could get their name checked off and Dorian sat back in a chair while they waited. They’d said everything looked good, so... might as well get it done, right? It also probably didn’t hurt that Samson and Blackwall were practically vibrating in their chairs for a cigarette break. Dorian’s wasn’t that bad, though after that little situation before, he could have used another one. A break for lunch would certainly help.

“Hey, Rutherford!” Samson called, “come on, let’s get this done so we can go.”

\----

“We got ‘im first! Wait your turn,” Krem called back between puffs.

“You're gonna have to start over, Krem, you know that right?” Cullen asked as he looked over his shoulder at his crew standing and sitting around their dummy. “Sorry,” he mouthed at Samson with a shrug. It took some time to get through the whole crew of The Kaaras, longer when Bull decided it the height of humor to break their fucking dummy, the great muscle-bound idiot.

“That's coming out of your check, captain,” Cullen said dryly as he dragged another over for them to finish up. When he was finally done there, he told them to meet back at 1:30 and made his way over to his people. Well, his people plus one.

“Alright, who's first?” he asked, but as soon as he had the last word out, Samson was already down.

“I normally don't do this on a first date, but…” Samson said, voice all innocence, before starting. Cullen rolled his eyes and sidled over to Trev.

“Hey, about before…” he began.

“Ah, ah. You're supposed to be watching him, remember?” Trev replied.

Well, alright, they'd talk later. That was fine with Cullen. He just felt… odd standing there knowing there was something unsettled between the two of them. Odd trying not to feel that presence, sitting just over to his right and watching with those cool eyes. As much as he'd like to catch Pavus fucking up, an equal part wanted the man to do it perfectly so Cullen wouldn't have to talk to him more than was necessary.

Samson, Blackwall, Barris, Varric and Trev all checked out. The former two nearly mutinied when Trev made them stay until the whole boat passed, and Cullen couldn't help but laugh. He knew how they felt. He'd been there last year himself. As it was, he had two more boats to check off after this, and then a nice, long break before the afternoon session of survival suits and life raft procedures.

Alistair took his spot beside the dummy and gave Cullen a questioning look.

“Whenever you're ready,” Cullen said, not unkindly.

But his angle was bad. If this had been a real emergency, he'd have just been pushing the soon-to-be dead guy farther away while cracking ribs. Not good.

“I'm gonna have to stop you there,” Cullen interrupted to loud groans from Samson and even Blackwall. He gave them a look that said _shut it_ , and for a wonder, they did. Kneeling down beside Alistair, he went on, “Shove over and watch. Look, lock your arms like this and make sure your shoulders are lined up. That'll make it stronger, and you gotta go straight down. Two inches. That's how far you've gotta go down. Might crack some ribs, but he'll thank you in the morning.” Cullen did a few compressions so the greenhorn could see, then moved out of the way. “Now, your turn.”

Alistair went back at it with better form this time around, and did alright with the breathing portion. “Good. That's right. You check out, greenhorn,” Cullen said with a nod and a little smile. Second try, yes, but that was ok. He'd stood through three and four tries over with Bull's greenhorn, after all.

And that left one.


	4. Impressions [2 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As training wraps up and work gets underway, Cullen and Dorian find that first impressions may not always be correct.

Grey eyes lifted to meet brown ones and for a moment they just... stared at one another. That, however, was wasting valuable time, and Dorian moved in closer to the dummy to do as Cullen had instructed. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but he’d taken care to watch the demonstration with rapt attention as well as the others who’d passed on the first go. His brows furrowed a bit in concentration as he did the compressions, counting softly to himself, then bent for the breathing portion.

No one had stopped him yet, at least, unless the jackass was waiting until he’d finished to tell him to do it again. That wouldn’t have surprised him, but that kind of thinking was too distracting. Doing something right out of spite had its place, but this was something he needed to get right for the sake of getting it right. Dorian tried to forget about who was watching him, and instead just focused on the task at hand. The sooner he did this right, the sooner they were allowed to go.

He really didn’t want to be the one standing in the way of a cigarette break and real food, after all.

When he was done, Dorian sat back up on his heels and wiped at his mouth before he turned to look back at the others and then up to the man with the clipboard. Here was hoping he wouldn’t get a fucking tongue lashing in front of everyone.

\----

The first two pumps were off, and Cullen was steeling himself to stop the man when Pavus corrected himself and kept going. _Thank the Maker_. Scarred lips muttered numbers off as Cullen counted compressions in time with the man in the floor. The pace was a little fast, but not wildly so. Not enough for Cullen to stop him anyway, and the way he cleared the airway and breathed was textbook. All in all a success.

As he went back for his second repetition, Cullen watched his face. There was a surprising earnestness there that took Cullen off guard. He'd expected the man to be blase about the whole thing at best, completely incompetent at worst, but there was real concentration on his face as he counted out compressions and finished the second set of breathing exercises. It was… well, it was genuine, which had Cullen confused. Confused, but maybe there was something more to this guy. He'd said earlier that he'd been quizzing himself on terms, hadn't he? He'd been paying attention in his own way, but the whole “what you'd like to hear from me” thing had gotten Cullen's blood boiling and overshadowed that fact.

And there was that little packet of elfroot tabs in his pocket, too. Pavus didn't have to do that. Cullen knew he'd only survived the rest of the morning because of them.

And then the man was done and those grey eyes were on him, waiting, almost bristling with anticipation at what Cullen would have to say to him. He'd have to give it to the man, begrudgingly maybe, but he'd done a good job. Still, it was hard to say the words after the morning he'd had.

“Cullen! Fucking pass him. I'm dying over here,” Samson whined.

Cullen sucked his teeth and shot a withering glare over at his engineer before turning back to the Pavus man. “You check out,” he relented, eyes straying to the side, “Good job. Just… ah… if you have to do that again, a hair slower, is all.”

“Fucking finally,” Samson said, already heading towards the door.

“Go eat, you big pissbaby,” Cullen called to his back, and was rewarded with a very rude finger as Samson disappeared around the corner.

\----

The lunch break had been... interesting. There were all of three places to really sit down and eat in this town, which the production team had exhausted already. That, however, wasn’t so true for the others, and Dorian found that he was being called to go with Trev and the others to actually go eat. He hadn’t expected that, honestly. But the others were warm and inviting, once they’d had their cigarettes, and Dorian had rather enjoyed sitting at the end of the table and watching and listening to them. Of course, the talk turned to work and what they needed to do still, but it gave Dorian a bit of a chance to write down some possible ideas while still getting to have that time to chat a bit.

Maybe... maybe he wasn’t so alone. Not that Dorian had any illusions that they’d like him better than the people they’d known for years, but they didn’t just outwardly ignore him. That was something, and other than a few prodding questions and light quips about being a ‘Vint, it was going reasonably well. He skirted a lot of the answers with an equally artful comebacks until everyone was laughing, and Dorian had managed to escape with not having to talk too much about... well, the things he didn’t want to talk about. He’d talk about himself at length, but no one here needed to know the more grizzly details.

Back at the ‘Community Center’ (which Dorian was still convinced was a joke being played on them), there was more coffee, a few more shitty pastries from the local grocer, and the last of their training for the next few hours. Like the CPR, they’d be taught and tested how to get into the survival suits and be timed on how long it took to get them on. He heard they'd have thirty seconds to get into the rubber and neoprene nightmare, which Dorian could already tell was going to be _so much fun_ , but he was trying. Though already the jokes about greased pigs had come out.

“Right, so first you take the vaseline, right?” Samson teased before he looked over at Dorian and Alistair, “it comes with its own tub of it, don’t worry, and you have to make sure you get a really good coating on-”

“I think you’re confusing your first date rituals again, Sam,” Trev teased as they made their way to the tables that now had a pile of suits on each one. He turned back to Cullen then, “Are we gonna see you get into one?” he asked with a grin, “I want a picture of you with that curly hair sticking out of the hood.”

\----

“Maker help me, if I see your phone out, it's going in the deep,” Cullen shot back. “Watch that _your_ lovely ponytail doesn't get caught in the zipper,” he added with a smirk as he turned to move back to the front of the room.

A bit of food, a bit more space, and Cullen was feeling more at rights with himself. Trev was teasing, which was a good sign, but didn't necessarily mean there wasn't still going to be a dressing down later. Even so, this next part was arguably the most useful portion of the day, and like the CPR session earlier, it was at least interactive. Just another half day and he was done and could get back to doing what he needed to finally, finally go fishing, troubling new cameraman or no.

“Ok guys, time to get going. Asses in chairs and eyes front,” he called out across the room. “We're getting down to it now. Those stylish jumpers in front of you are survival suits. Water tight, or as close as you can get to it anyway, and the only thing keeping you from hypothermia if it comes to it.” He paused to make sure most of the eyes in the room were tracking with him, letting his own glide over them and stopping on his table. The vets were, predictably, already tuning him out. They knew what they were about, though, so Cullen didn't really fault them. He wanted to make sure, however, that two pairs of eyes in particular were focused on him. So far, so good. Alistair was sitting forward in his chair, nodding and at least the Pavus guy wasn't paying more attention to everyone else than he was to what Cullen was saying. That was something. 

“The waters we're fishing are cold. You all know that, but here's _how_ cold - try freezing. They're a half a degree above the freezing point. Things happen fast, faster than you can believe, if you fall in or, Maker forbid, your boat goes down.”

“Your body is fairly smart, you see, but it does _dumb_ things because it doesn't know or care that it's in water. It wants to preserve itself at that temperature - it's just trying to survive. So it concentrates on keeping your core alive - your lungs, your heart - at the expense of everything else. It cuts off circulation to nonessential things like your hands and feet. Then the large muscles in your arms and legs.” Cullen was pacing again, slowly walking back and forth in front of the group, making sure they were all still following. This was a bit more… urgent than learning aft from fore, so it seemed attention was high.

“Which is unfortunate, because you need those things to fucking _swim_. Within just two minutes, your arms and legs will be completely useless. Within 15, you'll be unconscious. Within 45, you'll be… gone. That's assuming you have a flotation device, of course.” He paused to let those numbers sink in. People had an idea of the cold and what it could do, but always assumed they had… longer. More than two minutes, anyway. Cullen had had the misfortune of going over once - a stupid mistake when he was green in fair waters. He'd been pulled out quickly, but he’d been weak and shivering and _useless_ for hours afterwards. It was a lesson he'd never forget.

“I'm telling you this so you understand how important your survival suit is. It'll keep you alive, even in those waters, which gives the rescue teams time enough to deploy and find you. They're made to keep body heat in and the Frozen Sea out, and are probably the most important pieces of equipment on your boat. They're high visibility, so you can be seen from the air, and come equipped with a strobe that activates when you splash down. So know where your suit is - keep them in a central place. Memorize how to get there from your bunk and the deck, because I promise you, if that boat goes down and the lights are off and she's on her beam ends, what was once familiar will a fucking maze.” He took a breath. Maker, it felt like he'd been talking for hours. All he wanted was a glass of water and maybe two more elfroot tabs, because that headache was edging its way right back into his skull.

“All these are all old loaners. Yours should already be on your boats, fully inspected and without holes. I advise that you take some time before we ship off to drill yourself with your suit, and _be careful_ not to rip a hole in them. Even one hole, and it's useless. Now, as I said before, things go faster than you think. If your boat’s going down, you're barely gonna have time to think. The goal today is to make sure all of you can get these suits on and zipped in under 60 seconds, but you should really aim for 30. Again, practice on your own later. I can't emphasize enough - time is of the essence and it is _not_ on your side when your back’s against the wall.” Almost done now, thank the Maker. His throat was getting scratchy and he was ready for a break already, but there was still work to be done.

“Alright. I'm gonna do this a few times so you can see it. A few times slowly, and then again at speed.” He picked up the suit that had been provided to him, pointed out a few of the important features, which basically included the zipper, face flap, and that strobe light. The construction otherwise was simple. It was all in how quickly you could put it on.

“First things first, and you're not gonna want to do this, but you have to take your boots off. They _will_ tear your suit. I hope you all have clean socks on, because we're all about to be shoeless.”

He then showed them how to roll the suit out on the ground, to sit and pull on one leg at a time, to stand back up and pull on the arms. He finished by zipping it all the way up and closing the little flap that covered his face. He heard Trev snicker from the back. These things _looked_ ridiculous. He was some sort of bright orange muppet with only his eyes showing, but by the Maker, he'd be a bright orange muppet that would _survive._

He unzipped the suit halfway down. “Easy, right? It's a little trickier than it looks, these things are neoprene, and not forgiving at all... but you'll find that out soon enough. Let me do that one more time, but at speed.”

So, he put his shoes back on, rolled the suit back up and looked back to Trev. “Grab a stopwatch, Trev. Time me.”

Trev nodded and grinned, picking up one of the stopwatches on the table. “On your mark… go!”

And Cullen went. He repeated the process, but at the pace he hoped he'd use if they were ever in real trouble. He'd never had to do this at sea in all his years out there, and prayed every night that he never would. Still, he was no slouch, and made sure to run this drill himself a few times each year before casting off.

Zipper up and face flap closed, he looked back to Trev who laughed, “32 seconds. You're slowing down old man.”

 _Shit._ He was. His record, because of course he kept track of that, was 28. Still, 32 wasn't shabby.

“Alright, I'm getting out of this gumby suit. You guys pair off and start practicing. Slow at first, but once you get the hang of it, start timing each other. And no cheating. When you reset, roll the suit back up and put your shoes back on. I'll be around when I've got mine back on. Go on, then. Get started.”

\----

This whole thing was... a lot. The instructions and the statistics and everything else were just enough to make Dorian’s ears ring, though he made sure to watch and learn as best he could. This wasn’t what he’d planned on when he went into this business. He’d had dreams of making something poignant and wonderful, not crawling on a possibly lice-ridden floor with a bunch of other men in a decidedly not fun way. He was sweating, shaking with a bit of nerves, and still feeling very alone. The guys were nice, and Varric had really started to bring him into the fold little by little, but he still felt it deep inside him that they were looking at him and waiting for an excuse to give him shit.

So he didn’t let that show. He concentrated, watched as Varric got in and out of the suit with relative ease. He could manage in just over thirty seconds and marked as much down with a smug grin. Dorian watched, watched Varric and Barris and Blackwall so he had a good idea of how to do it in a less clinical kind of way. For how gnarled and spindly Samson seemed, he was surprisingly agile, and both Barris and Blackwall were strong and sure in their movement. That left Dorian to look down at the suit, rolled up as it was, and he sighed before he looked up at Varric with a nod and set to get into it.

Or try. It really was a rubber and neoprene nightmare. It was tight and crushed all of Dorian’s _important_ parts, and trying to reach behind him to pull the hood on while he was zipping up was a nightmare. He was fairly agile, or so he liked to think, but there was certainly a moment of him turning in a circle to try to grab hold of where the top of his suit had fallen down. He chewed at his lip in concentration, let out a grunt of frustration, then finally half managed to pull it up before he sank back on his knees and had to breathe a bit for just how athletic it was.

“Maker,” he panted, “how do you do this?” he asked with half a self-depreciative smile and half actual concern.

What if he couldn’t do it?

\----

Cullen pulled his boots on and tied them up, amber eyes already scanning the room to see who might need help. He made the rounds, stopping off to watch the crew of The Sundermount, all veterans of the sea, both crew and cameramen, pull their suits on with the same level of comfort he had earlier. “All good, Hawke?” Cullen asked.

“You know it, Rutherford,” the burly captain replied wide a broad grin. There was a man comfortable in his element, or any element, really. He had the luxury, though. He knew and trusted every person who'd be sailing out with him. Cullen on the other hand…

His eyes strayed over to his own crew. Predictably, the vets had already gotten in and out of their suits once, and were now racing each other to see who could do it fastest, shit talking and laughing the whole time. Cullen rolled his eyes and sighed, though part of him wished he could join them. Still, they should be helping the two new guys,  not goofing off. Well, they'd pull it together on the boat when the actual work began. They always did.

Alistair was struggling a bit, but managed finally to get it on and zipped up, though he was breathing heavily by the end. It really was a workout, and the first time was always the hardest. He'd get there; he was already pulling the suit off to try again. _Good man,_ Cullen thought as his eyes drifted over to watch Pavus with his suit.

Maker, this was what he'd hoped for all that miserable morning - a chance to see that overconfident smirk wiped off his smug face was all he'd wanted before lunch. Cullen stood at ease, arms crossed and tongue running over the inside of his cheek as he watched the little dance unfolding before him. Yes, he'd wanted _something_ to put the man in his place earlier, but now that it was happening, Cullen just felt… bad for him. His face was twisted in concentration and frustration and he bit at his lip as he fought with all that rubbery, inflexible material.

_If he can't get in the suit, he can't get on the boat._

It was true, but _fuck_. The man was trying, actually _trying_ , which was leagues more than Cullen had expected from him when he first laid eyes on the man that morning. For the second time that day, he wondered if maybe there _was_ more to this soft, sheltered fish out of water. Was there a bit of steel in there after all? Only time would tell… and only if the man could get into that suit.

The question then, really, was whether Cullen was willing to allow the man to prove it. What Trev said earlier aside, _Cullen_ was the instructor here, and if he chose to fail the Pavus man, that would be that. There'd be accusations later that he'd done it on purpose - there'd be repercussions - but he _could_ list the man as unfit to sail with them, and there’d be precious little anyone could do. But that would be… cruel. Cullen was many things - he'd been called an assortment of colorful names in his lifetime, many justified - but he'd never been cruel.

Plus, the look on the Pavus man's face, in his eyes, it said the he _wanted_ to do this right. He wanted to do it right, but he was close to giving up out of frustration and embarrassment, yet he continued to try. Cullen could… Cullen could respect that.

His feet carried him to the back of the room where the man had rested back down on his knees. Cullen heard his question - _how do you do this?_ \- and took a breath as he hunkered down next to him to look the man in his eyes.

“Slowly,” he started in a low voice. “At least… at first. It's ok… you just got twisted in the back - it’s why you can't get your arms on. Here,” he said as he moved to untangle the top half of the suit, pulling one of the sleeves out from where it had gotten caught between the man's back and the rest of the suit. He was speaking… gently. Why was he speaking gently? Normally, he'd have called out the rookie mistake for everyone to see and learn from. Earlier, he'd have enjoyed the fuck out of the opportunity. But there was something about the expression in those grey eyes that told him maybe that would have been too much. He cleared his throat and continued, “Just, ah, take it off and start again fresh. When you lay it out, make sure it's straight and when you stand, try to stand right up without rolling to one side so it'll fall back clean. And if it doesn't, try again until it does. You'll get it. You'll _be ok_.”

\----

Already Dorian was sweating and panting, and he had to do this _again_. He had to do it again and have everyone watching him. One hand lifted to rub at the back of his neck, and he tried to take another breath and get himself under control. Getting rattled would only make this harder. Sweat and rubber and neoprene were a bad mix, and making it harder on himself wasn’t what he needed.

This was one of those thing that would keep him from working if he couldn’t do it. If Dorian couldn’t do this, he couldn’t go out and he couldn’t do the job and he’d really be in a world of shit.

And then there was someone in his space. _Cullen_ was in his space, and Dorian braced himself for another tongue lashing. That wasn’t what he needed right now. If that arsehole wanted to get in his face, then Dorian was reasonably sure he wouldn’t be able to hold his tongue anymore. That said, when that Fereldan lilt came out more soft and gentle, he looked up and met brown eyes with a bit of surprise. It wasn’t the man humiliating him, like he suspected, and it was...  _helpful_. Actually helpful. Then, there was the softest brush of a hand at his back, and Dorian felt something clutch in his chest. It was partially a desire to be contrary just for the sake of it, just because they’d already butted heads, but there was also the fact that that he was helping and seeming to take an interest.

Dorian nodded and took another breath before he unzipped the suit and wiggled back out of it. He bent over, which rucked up his shirt a bit at the back, to expose his lower back and a few of the lines of the greyscale tattoo that covered his entire back. “Watch, maybe?” Dorian asked as he turned to look up into that pale, scruffy face, “one time to make sure I’m... somewhere close to getting it?”

\----

Amber eyes met grey for a long moment as Cullen considered the man before him. He was looking, searching for any sign of that _act_ Cullen had suspected him of putting on earlier. He found none, and opened his mouth to reply.

“Andraste’s ass, Rutherford! Come check us out already!” a voice, likely that smartass Carver, called from the direction of the Sundermount crew.

Without turning, Cullen held up a finger. “Just a minute,” he called over his shoulder. They just wanted to get out of there and go smoke. They could wait. This was important. Something _significant_ was happening here. There was something about the way Pavus had asked him to stay, something about the way he hadn't given up at the first little struggle like Cullen had expected of him, that ignited the old excitement Cullen had always felt when one of his charges showed a spark of promise years ago. Back then, it had been his job to foster young men and women - to turn them into soldiers. He'd viewed them like… almost like little gifts. They'd come to him, wrapped in layers of their lives and personalities - layers that had perhaps hidden strengths yet to be found, and he'd always taken pleasure in untangling those trappings to find potential and help it grow.

That had been _before_ though, and he'd thought that part of him long dead. Not even Barris or, now, Alistair had woken that dormant desire in him. But here it was, a small fire in his head of _what if_ when he looked at this man. What if he was more than the expensive-looking clothes and manicured nails and facial hair groomed _just so_? What if the act before had been merely posturing in a new place? What if there was _potential_?

And suddenly, it was important to him that this man clear this admittedly small hurdle so Cullen could see how he'd fare against the far larger ones later. That didn't mean he thought they'd ever see eye to eye; the way the man had immediately brought out the worst in Cullen earlier was clear enough indication that they'd probably never be friends, but he also knew you didn't have to _like_ someone to _respect_ them.

The shift from his thinking this morning was dramatic, almost breathtaking in its revelation - all because the man was trying his best and had… humbled himself enough to ask for help. That spoke louder than flashy shoes and snide comments in Cullen's mind. He still thought the man a liability, but now he was one Cullen was willing to take on. Well, that wasn't right. Pavus was a liability he _wanted_ to take on. A challenge. A mystery. Would he break or would he rise?

He _wanted_ to watch him grow, as he'd watched so many others grow before he'd left that life.

A hand raised to rub the knot at the base of his skull, and the scarred side of Cullen's mouth curled up slightly into an apologetic little half-smile, “Pushy bastards, aren't they? They can wait. Go ahead and take your time. Let me know if you want to see me do it again… I don't mind.”

And, surprisingly, he really didn't mind. Or maybe it wasn't so surprising, considering the return of that old tingle he felt buzzing in his head - the anticipation of tapping unknown potential. He might regret it later - fuck, he probably would, but right now… right now, he found he wanted to see.

\----

The whole production of getting _out_ of the thing was almost as bad as getting _into_ it, and Dorian swallowed thickly as he got back up to his feet. He couldn’t fuck this up. He may not have been a fisherman, but this was his livelihood on the line, and if he couldn’t do this, he was going to be in a lot of trouble. It made his heart pound faster as he stared down at the orange monstrosity, and Dorian took another breath before he stepped back over to it and started fighting again. This time, though, he tried to blank out his mind and just move _with_ the suit instead of trying to wrench it around too much.

For the most part, it worked alright. Dorian wasn’t quick at it by any means, but he could at least somewhat manage. He was out of breath and sweating and probably smelled like rubber, but Maker be damned if he didn’t have the thing on. It was tight enough that his clothes were twisted uncomfortably around him, as they weren’t _actually_ in the water, but it was... well, it was something.

This time he looked back up to meet Cullen’s eyes and he gestured to himself, “I’m not sure it’s my color, but I think it works. Don’t you think?” he asked with a soft laugh, “not quite your thirty two seconds, though, but... maybe eventually.”

\----

“Brings out your eyes,” Cullen responded with a straight face before his brow furrowed. “But you're missing something.” He stepped in a bit closer and grabbed the front of the suit to finish zipping it up. “ _All_ the way up. You really shouldn't be able to talk. And then,” he continued as he pulled the little flap that protected the face and brought it securely across the zipper, “don't forget the face flap.” He stepped back out of Pavus’ space and that sideways smile was back on his face. “There you go. Watertight, or almost… and don't worry about how fast anyone else can do it. Just shoot for 60 seconds. Reset and do it again… that was much better. I think you're ok now to keep trying.” He looked over at the rest of the crew before making a decision. “Theirin, over here. You two work together on this. Someone's gotta time... eventually.”

As Alistair stumbled over, half in his suit, Cullen turned to head over to The Sundermount crew before stopping and looking back. “And, ah… thanks. For the elfroot.”

There, now his guilty conscience was soothed… where that matter was concerned, anyway. There was still the matter with Trev to smooth over, after all.

Still, he'd managed to speak with Pavus without wanting to punch something afterwards. That was progress. Time would tell how long that would last.

\----

Amazingly enough, the rest of the training went by reasonably well. Both Dorian and Alistair had struggled a bit, but they managed to get their times down to under a minute, which seemed to be good enough. That and the life raft training was just... Dorian couldn’t imagine. So he listened, did as he was told, and when they were finally let out to finish last prep for the season to begin, Dorian had never been more glad. Training on site was always a huge thing, but this? That was brutal.

Tonight they’d be sleeping on the boats, though, and tomorrow marked the actual first day of filming. Last minute prep, getting everything loaded and figured out, and any late arrivals were typically the first shots. That meant Dorian had to spend the evening outfitting his camera and getting his own stuff stowed away while the actual deckhands did... whatever it was they did. Dorian had heard something about spot welding some of the pots, grinding off rust, and getting freezers full of all manner of bait and terrible fishy smelling things.

After last minute instructions from the directors and goodbyes and good lucks, they were set loose. Varric clapped Dorian on the shoulder, slung up his bag and picked up the last camera box that hadn’t already been put on board, and led the way. As they neared the boat, he could see that it was rocking, and already Dorian was starting to feel sick.

“Here we go,” he breathed, and prayed silently that his first act of business wasn’t going to be throwing up on someone’s feet.

\----

Cullen was on his boat. He was on his boat and that made everything better. The second half of the class had gone smoother, largely due to the release of that awful headache he'd had that morning, but it still wasn't _this._ Most of the guys grumbled about the heavy workload in the last days leading up to shipping out, but Cullen didn't mind it. In fact, he actually enjoyed the frantic pace and the endless lists of things to do and check off. He was always best when he was busy - when he had a purpose.

He'd taken a moment to light a cigarette and let the lingering stress and exhaustion of leading a class all day roll off him before taking to the crane’s hydraulic controls. The little corner of the boat that contained all the moving parts, that was his domain. If he was awake, he was the one controlling the mechanics and watching the men on deck. It was a good vantage point, and he didn't miss much.

For example, he hadn't missed that their cameramen had now boarded the Herald. Varric looked… well, like Varric always did - smiling and comfortable wherever he was. The new guy, however, already looked green around the gills, and Cullen wasn't sure if that was fear or nerves or what. Surely, he wasn't already seasick at dock… right? He felt some of that _what if_ feeling from earlier fade away to be replaced by a dull sort of resignation. If the man was already getting ill… well, Cullen wasn't about to nurse him well or coddle him, and nor would any of the crew. He'd just have to deal with it and pray that he made it over the rails if he got sick.

He sighed deeply, wondering if it wouldn't have been a kindness to everyone if he'd just let Pavus fail out before steeling himself and calling out, “Varric, Pavus, set your stuff down for a minute and let's talk before I have to start loading.”

There were a few ground rules that had to be set before Cullen got too busy and it got too late. He'd rather discuss them now during the calm than in the thick of things.

\----

The first few steps on the boat were shaky, and Dorian had to close his eyes. People got sick all the time, and he was reasonably sure if he was so sick, he’d be left alone. They were there now. This was his home for the next couple of months, and while his stomach was rolling out of sync with the ship, he was... excited. Actually excited. In the first three minutes, he’d already ticked off ten shots he wanted once they got settled. This was going to be okay. The afternoon had been hard, but Dorian was feeling mostly positive.

Then... words. A talk.

He cast a glance at Varric, shouldered his camera bag, and turned toward the much larger blond man. “Already looking for an interview?” Dorian teased with a small smile, but the nausea on his face didn’t quite let it dazzle like it would normally.

“Is this the ‘circle’ talk again, Curly?” Varric asked with a grin, “because I already know it, and I’d like to get down to our room so I can make sure to get the bigger bed.” He winked at Dorian then, “since he’ll be the one dancing on deck with you guys.”

“Circle talk?” Dorian asked with a cocked eyebrow, “is this a superstitious metaphor or something?”

\----

“You're shameless,” Cullen shot back at Varric before taking a draw from his cigarette and frowning, “But yes, that's what this is.” He eyed Pavus for a moment, wondering how he was going to take this. Well, not like he had room to argue - it was what it was. He'd said earlier that he'd stay out of Cullen's way, that it was what he thought Cullen wanted to hear. In truth, yes, it was. But he also wanted to know that the man meant what he said… since he was about to find out a little of what that really meant.

“Look,” Cullen started, “It's no secret that I don't like the show being on this boat. I'll not sugarcoat it and pretend I'm ok with it - when work really gets started, there’re a lot of moving parts, and people - the best trained people - fuck up. ’The circle’ is how I try to keep those fuck ups to a minimum.” He took a breath. Hopefully, Pavus was listening and wouldn't fight him on this. He'd seen too many close calls when things were going to compromise on this - even if his tolerance for compromise on the deck weren't so low. “It's this, where you're standing. From the launcher all the way around to the coiler and the block,” he raised his hands and pointed to the wide swath of deck that line encompassed before stuffing one back in his pocket and taking another draw with the other. “When we're launching pots or picking them, I _do not_ want to see you inside this area. There's too much shit going on for me to keep my eyes on you.” He paused for a second before adding, “And for the love of Andraste, stay off the stacked pots.”

\----

One eyebrow cocked. Dorian had expected as much, considering Cullen’s attitude so far. He could have pegged that the man didn’t like them there on sight, but he’d also never expected a dressing down right off either. Well, maybe not a dressing down, but to have limitations put on him and his job outright was... annoying. Probably necessary, but annoying.

“And when you’re _not_ launching or... picking?” Dorian asked cooly, “I’ve seen enough to know people get in that space at other times.” He shifted a bit as the boat rolled a little again and grabbed at the strap on his shoulder, “going to throw me out of it then?”

\----

“If I had my way... yes. Absolutely,” Cullen returned immediately. It didn't sit well with him the the man was already looking for loopholes. All signs pointed to a tiresome season - he was going to have to watch the cameraman closer even than the actual greenhorn, it seemed. Well, it was his own fault. This was what he’d signed up for when he helped the man get into that survival suit just because Cullen had wanted to see if there was more to him.

 _Dumb. Dumbdumbdumb._ If they'd been down one cameraman… well, maybe they'd have been free from the show somehow, and they could fish without all this. A season with no cameras. It would have been a blessing, but Cullen had just had to do the right thing and _help._

“Lucky for you, I don't have it my way. So no, if we're not launching or pulling, I won't kick you out. Just… just use some common sense, ok? If shit goes sour or we're busy, give us room to breathe.” He rubbed his hand over his face then and pushed a few blond curls back under his knit cap. “I'd also ask you - both of you - to film _me_ as little as possible, but I've never gotten my way on that one either.”

\----

Dorian took a breath, “Common sense, I can do,” he answered before he looked over at some of the machinery. The last thing he actually wanted was to get tangled up in something because he knew the tunnel vision he tended to get when something good was happening. The directors had warned against it, too. That, and almost thousand-pound steel traps flying about weren’t Dorian’s idea of fun. That said, he wanted something new and interesting. New and interesting _and_ managing not to piss off the lot of everyone seemed to be a good plan. Adversity and all that.

That, and Dorian could understand not wanting someone up in their face with a camera. He liked being behind it, but in front of it was sometimes unsettling. Being in a situation where it wasn’t really their _choice_? he could work with that. “I told you I’d stay out of your way,” he pointed out, “and maybe your handsome new greenhorn might get a bit more screentime.”

Varric poked Dorian in the side for that, and he let out a chuckle, “off the record, of course,” Dorian finished, then looked up at Cullen, “sound square to you?”

\----

Cullen straightened and cocked an eyebrow at that _handsome_ comment. There was enough to worry about on the sea as it was, so he spent a moment hoping that was a joke. The greenhorn - Theirin - was going to need his head about him. Shit, they all would, really. There was no room for distraction… of any kind. _A joke, Rutherford. It was a joke._

Still, the comment didn't sit well with him for reasons he couldn't begin to explain. Probably just because, if it wasn't a joke, it was a giant fucking red flag. Though Cullen loved the work, lives would be on the line each day they'd be out there. He didn't have the luxury or the patience to tolerate any bullshit grade school drama, though it always seemed to find its way onboard. This was just another thing he'd have to watch out for, another thing he hadn't dreamed he needed to be concerned with out there. Spark of interest in who this man really was under all that styling and fronting aside, Pavus was practically the walking embodiment of one of Cullen’s headaches.

The deck boss huffed and shook his head. “Yes, well, watch yourself there. He's gonna be elbow deep in fish guts and bait bags before too long. He doesn't need the added pressure of any extra attention from... the show. There'll be enough eyes on him as it is. Namely, mine.” Cullen paused and bit at the inside of his cheek as he regarded his cameramen. They were on his boat now, which meant he was determined to get them back safely, regardless of the challenges they posed. But the Maker really was having a go at him, wasn't He? “But yes, we're square. Let me show you where things are while I have a chance. Once we get going, there won't be time for the grand tour.”

 _At least we've reached an... understanding_ , he thought as he took them around the boat, showing Pavus where things were and tolerating Varric’s sighs and quips about how much he already knew. Cullen pointed out where the survival suits were, showed Pavus which was his, took them to where the life rafts were, and then showed them the rest of the boat, finishing in the little galley, before the pull of _work to be done_ made him cut it short.

“Welcome to The Herald. Treat her right and she'll do the same for you,” he said in an almost gentle voice as he placed a hand affectionately on one of the wood-panelled walls. It had been a frustrating day, to say the least. He hated the show, had been rattled by the class earlier and, yes, the new cameraman standing before him was going to be a world of trouble, but Maker, he loved that boat.

\----

Well, it wasn’t exactly a private yacht. Not that Dorian really liked those either. Below deck felt so confined, and being down there made Dorian’s skin crawl. Being up on deck was apparently Cullen’s domain, though, and Dorian didn’t want to interrupt... too much. But he couldn’t deny how the way the bigger man touched the boat and looked almost affectionate at it was endearing. From what he knew, this one was a favorite among the audience that watched the show, and people rather liked this gruff arsehole for whatever reason. In these moments where he wasn’t glaring or snarling or whatever, Dorian could almost see why.

Those brown eyes weren’t so bad to look into either. Not that he noticed, or cared. Any kind of attention like that might get him tossed over the side, after all. The comment about Alistair was probably more than enough as it was. Dorian did pay attention to all the important parts, though, and when they were in the galley at last with their stuff sitting at their feet, he grinned back up at the deck boss who looked much happier than he had all day.

“Before you go back up,” Dorian began once Varric had ducked off to claim his bunk and find Trev, “I wanted to... apologize? Maybe? I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, and I’d like to try to mend that a bit. I’m not here to make your job harder. Not on purpose, anyway.”

\----

Amber eyes widened, and Cullen's face went slack for just the briefest of moments. That was… unexpected. His face was caught somewhere between bemused and considering as he took in the measure of the man as if it were the first time. Whatever act Cullen had thought him guilty of this morning seemed… well, gone. Pavus was still untested and hardly prepared for what Cullen knew lay ahead, but there was a genuine note of apology there, and the question of _what if_ rose in Cullen's mind again.

Maybe that's all it was. All the frustration and snap judgments from this morning - maybe they were all because they'd gotten off on the wrong foot. Either way, they were about to be in close confines on a small ship for weeks on end. It would be best for everyone if Cullen just backed down, at least until there was a problem. _Trev would be proud,_ he thought as he chuckled softly.

“You… you might be right. Maker knows I wasn't at my best this morning. That headache and then Varric’s damn nicknames…” he said with a shrug. It was likely, he knew, that he hadn't been entirely _fair_. “So, ah, sorry if I was… rude. I have a way about me, I know.” Living alone for most of the year with only brief interruptions of being around people during the season had taken its toll, it seemed. “But, yeah…” he said as he stuck his right hand out and the scarred side of his mouth hitched up in an unsure little smile, “Cullen Rutherford, deck boss of The Herald. Nice to meet you.”

\----

That was surprising. Very surprising. Surprising but good.

Dorian took that hand to shake it, “Dorian Pavus, most recently of the Imperium and low man on the pole for the moment. Good to meet you.” He was smiling as well: that dazzling one that actually reached his eyes and probably made them sparkle that much more. See? He could do this. It wasn’t ideal, probably for anyone, but they could manage. “And I’ve brought plenty of elfroot should you need another pack of it, hm?” he teased before he let that hand drop.

“Now,” he said as he straightened and grinned a bit at Cullen, “I need to get my stuff set up, and _you’re_ in _my_ circle, sir.” A light tease here and there always seemed to help. “I might head up in a bit to get some things up on the deck before too long, but it shouldn’t be in your way.”

\----

For the second time in as many minutes, Cullen felt his eyes go wider and his face fall a bit slack. Whatever he'd thought earlier, the man had a nice smile when it was real. Arresting, almost, and something thumped in his chest. Blond eyebrows knit together as Cullen shook his head once before meeting those shining grey eyes again.

_What the fuck was that?_

“Yes, well, I'll try not to exhaust you of your supply,” he answered, keeping his tone light though he was thoroughly confused about the acrobatics that had just taken place in his chest. _Seriously, what the fuck?_ “But please, allow me to vacate _your_ circle,” he said as he took a step further away from the galley towards the stairs that led above. He was surprised to hear the note of… teasing in his own voice. He should be annoyed to hear his words tossed back at him like that. It should have bothered him, or made him think that perhaps Pavus didn't respect the ground rules he'd set earlier. Instead, he felt a little smirk on his face and… humor? Was that humor he felt bubbling up, caused by a man he was two seconds from hating this morning?

“See you up there,” he finished with a wave as he turned to go back aboveboard to get started with his own work. _Maybe he's not so bad…_

\----

The little stateroom, which was probably being very generous, was... well, little. Dorian and Varric’s bunks were crowded by their bags and camera gear, already laid out on the small beds, and the dim light and all the wood paneling made it feel that much more like a cave. Under the deck, in that small room, the rocking of the boat already felt like it was more than it had been. being crammed in with his kit wasn’t abnormal, but that rocking... ugh. Maker help him.

He’d thought to buy some of those seasickness patches to try, since he really didn’t want to be throwing up on deck, but it seemed a bit sad to put it on already. That said, the nausea was already welling up and what they’d had for lunch was starting to want to make a reappearance. So Dorian took a few deep breaths to settle himself, unzipped his bag to pull out one of the hoodies he’d brought with him to slip over his head, and changed from his normal shoes to the rubber boots they’d been supplied by the production team. They were the supposed anti-slip kind, though Dorian had a realistic idea of how long that was going to stay true.

Dressed now, Dorian grabbed up one of the cameras and got it up and running. Maker, but he loved that weight on his shoulder. If Cullen’s happiness was on the boat, Dorian’s was behind the lens. Nothing was better than when he was working. He could become one with that camera and find something beautiful no matter what the subject matter was. Since they weren’t out on the actual water, Dorian decided to forego the plastic wrapping to keep the electronics dry and turned to leave. He paused, though, and set the bigger camera down to dig through his personal bag again to find _his_ DSLR so he could maybe take some pictures for himself.

Back up on deck was a whirl of activity, and Dorian took another breath as the cooler air hit his lungs. The rest of the crew were scrambling: moving those giant traps with the crane, sanding and grinding down some of them as well, and there was the distinct smell of fish in the air as everything was being prepped. “And now we begin,” he murmured to himself, hefted the camera on his shoulder, and headed out to find a place close enough to film the action but out of the way of everyone working. Casual observer was his real role, and artist to find something in amongst the chaos of grinding metal, hydraulics, and tempers of the men on deck.

The first shot, he decided, was going to be of Barris grinding off some of the rust. That was a good way to start.

\----

250 pots. That's how many The Herald could hold without rolling on her side with the first rogue wave, and that's how many Cullen had to stack. A cigarette dangled from his scarred lips as his hands worked the finicky hydros, his face all eagle-eyed concentration. The first stack of the season always took the longest, since each pot had to be individually inspected and repaired as they went. Blackwall stalked the growing stack with a welding torch, while Barris followed behind with the grinder. Samson guided each new pot into place and secured it once it had been inspected and repaired with the Theirin kid following behind closely to learn and eventually take over. Samson had an engine to finish testing, after all.

Theirs was an efficient system, but it would still take hours to finish, and since most of the day was eaten up with that class, it was guaranteed they wouldn’t finish tonight. That left more stacking in the morning and the damn food run at some point tomorrow. Why Trev always waited until the last minute every year was beyond Cullen, but there it was.

A movement from the corner of his eye caught Cullen's attention. True to his word, Pavus had gotten his gear ready and was back up on deck to start, ugh, filming. Cullen clamped his mouth down around his cigarette, lips forming a thin line as he waited for the inevitable _opening shot of the stoic deck boss working the controls_ that happened every year when Solas was around. For a wonder, the camera man didn't even spare him a look, and just went straight to where Barris was working. That was… that was just fine. As long as Cullen saw him on the pots, knew he was there, he could crawl all over those damn things all day if he wanted to. Especially if it meant Cullen was spared of being the subject... for now at least.

“Heads up, guys. Cameraman on deck,” Cullen called out so the crew would be aware of Pavus’ presence. He'd rather not have to add “trip to the emergency room” to his list of to dos if Blackwall didn't see the man and burned him with that torch… which had happened before.

\----

For his part, Dorian didn’t actually _want_ to get in the way. The stationary cameras, which were all up and running, would catch a good portion of the goings-on. His part was getting a few closeups, different angles, and maybe preliminary interviews when people weren’t running all over. This part wasn’t the most important, since the first few episodes were usually recap and footage from the bars and whatever else of people coming in. Mostly, Dorian wanted to get a feel for where to stand and what angles he’d get from where, and he leaned back a bit before taking a knee to get a better angle up toward the rack of pots and the men up there. That was really good angle, actually. Well framed. It made his heart pound in the best way.

He was startled, though, by Cullen’s call, and Dorian looked away from the camera for a moment before he turned back to grin at the deck boss. One hand raised to show where he was, before he turned back to what he was doing. It had been a while since he’d been behind it, really, considering how things had happened. It felt good to be there, and Dorian slowly felt the rocking of the boat disappear as his focus kicked in. This was good. This was very good.

“So how many have rusted shut?” Dorian called to Blackwall, “is that a thing that happens?”

\----

“It can, but the real problem is corrosion on the chain link. Look here,” Blackwall answered and pointed to an area of the pot he was welding that had rusted. “If Barris knocks that off and there ain't much steel left, we gotta replace it. Pulling blanks is bad enough. Pulling blanks because you have a Maker-damned hole in your gear is the worst.” He paused for a moment before adding, “A blank is when you got no keepers, by the way.”

“And a keeper is an adult male crab. Women and children go back overboard,” Alistair added from above them, excited to be able to add to the conversation, “Which is funny if you think about it, because usually, they're the ones that get saved from going into the sea. Women and children first, you know.”

“Kid,” Samson began, “Less running at the mouth, more securing pots.”

“Like your mouth never runs, Sam,” Barris laughed and looked over at the cameraman, “Get him going, and he won't shut up. Bring a few batteries when you interview him, is what I'm saying.”

From where he stood at the controls, Cullen watched his crew speaking with Pavus. He sighed. The show was a distraction, no matter how many times the producers promised them that the cameras wouldn't get in their way. Still, they were docked and this wasn't excessive, though Cullen did jimmy the controls a bit to shake the pot Samson had his hands on and get his attention. _Talk while you work._ The longer Cullen stood stooped over at those controls, the more persistent that fire between his shoulder blades grew, so he was very interested in getting as much done as quickly as they could.

\----

Dorian couldn’t help but chuckle at how open the others were to talking to him. Perhaps Cullen really was the only one who hated having the show there. He was content to let them chatter amongst themselves, anyway, and just moved along to capture everything. It was simple, preliminary footage that would probably just be used in quick cuts. That, and he wanted to make sure the others were used to having him there. Him as in Dorian and his sort of style as opposed to him as in just a camera.

Finally, though, he put the big camera down and elected to just start taking pictures with his DSLR. There was a lot of interesting composition on deck, and Dorian took some just happy time to work with what the crew gave him. It had been a few hours, and the sun was sinking very low now, and Dorian didn’t want to be out on deck with them when it was dark. Not yet. Before he finished, though, Dorian did sneak (inasmuch as he could sneak) around and snapped a few of Cullen on the hydraulics. It wasn’t anything for the show, not really, but more just for himself, and as he snapped the few pictures, Dorian couldn’t help but take Cullen in a little more.

He was big and broad and probably muscled under those layers of clothes, and under that red cap blond curls poked out and fluttered in the wind. The man was so Fereldan that it almost hurt: pale skin, blond curls, eyes like amber resin, burly with muscle and a layer of something to keep him warm in this terrible weather. Cullen was most decidedly _not_ Dorian’s type, not with the gruff exterior and the way his mouth was in a frown more often than not. That said... those scarred lips were rather nice, and when the man _did_ smile he was... nice to look at. Most of the men on the ship were nice to look at, if Dorian was honest with himself. They might not find that train of thought welcome, considering Dorian expected most of these types to be... well, offended by another man being interested in them. That didn’t, however, make them any less nice to look at.

When it got dark, though, Dorian grabbed both cameras and headed back down where it was warmer. Focusing with the cameras had helped him forget the rocking of the boat, but once he was back below and putting his things away that sick feeling was coming back. Ugh. Maker, he hated boats. 

\---- 

After the sun set, Cullen and the rest of the crew kept working under the ship’s bright lights. He noted when Pavus left the deck - right at sundown - and was relieved that he did. The lights were plenty for men who'd worked the deck for years, but nowhere near as good as actual sunlight when it came to visibility.

They managed to get half the pots stacked and balanced before the yawns set in and Cullen could see that Alistair was dozing off standing up between pots. Samson had long since gone belowdecks to check the engine, so without the kid, the whole thing would shut down soon, anyway. Besides, that dull fire between Cullen's shoulders was an inferno by now, so he was just as ready to call it a night. There was a good half day of work stacking pots tomorrow, plus everything else, so it would do them all some good to turn in and get some actual rest while they could.

Except Cullen had a hard time sleeping if he wasn't already thoroughly exhausted. He hadn't quite reached that point yet, so he hung back on deck as the rest of the hands made their way downstairs and to their bunks. Now was as good a time as any to inspect the greenhorn’s work, and he decided to spend a while crawling around on the stack, checking the ties and the state of the pots in general. The last few were a little on the sloppy side, though it wasn't anything a tug and yank here or there wouldn't fix. Still, he'd have a word with Theirin in the morning.

That done, Cullen killed the spots and moved back to his space, his _circle_ , rolled his shoulders to work some of that tension out, and lit a cigarette as he stood by the rail and let the cold sea breeze roll over him. It was late enough that the docks were becoming more and more quiet as time wore on, which he appreciated. As far as he was concerned, it didn't get much better than this - time to himself to just _be_ while the boat rocked gently and the moonlit sea was in front of him. Well, that wasn't right. It would have been better if they were steaming out to the grounds, but that would come. Tomorrow night or the following morning, they'd be on their way.

He couldn't wait.


	5. Impressions [3 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Cullen learn just a little bit more about one another. While Dorian struggles with finding his place and the seasickness that's already setting in, Cullen begins wondering where the line between them should fall.

Below deck got considerably more crowded once the others came back down, and it only fed that feeling of being closed in. Trev and Varric had joined them too, and Dorian had to find somewhere else to be just so he could breathe. Too many people in a tiny space was... too much. He wasn’t claustrophobic, not really, but all that closeness and the rocking of the boat just made his nausea spike a bit. A cigarette and some fresh air would help that, though.

He climbed up and out and lit his cigarette almost immediately. That might have been part of why he was feeling a bit sick, actually, and at that first hit of nicotine, Dorian couldn’t help but sigh. Sigh and then raise an eyebrow at how dark it was on deck now. The dock lights were enough to see by, mostly, and the moon was bright in the clear sky. It was... pretty, actually. Pretty amidst all the steel and water and wood.

Dorian made his way out closer, then paused when he saw Cullen at the rail. Was he interrupting? Was this one of those ‘stay away from me’ moments? He wasn’t working, though. he was just standing there. _Fuck it._ He walked up, leaned against the rail, and took another drag, “Bit of a loner, are you?” he asked with a smile, “not hip to go down and make shopping lists with the others?”

\----

Cullen heard someone coming from behind him and sighed. _There goes my alone time._ The smell of cloves filled his nose, and Cullen knew who it was before the man was even in sight. Pavus leaned against the rail and Cullen noticed that he already looked a bit more comfortable being there. He'd find his place soon enough, that one. If he could turn Cullen's opinion of him around in the span of one day, he'd do alright. Probably.

“Same shit every year. As long as there's coffee, and a lot of it, on that list, I'm good,” Cullen answered with a nod before leaning down onto the rails himself and stretching out a little. It eased some of the pressure on his lower back, anyway. He was quiet for a moment before wrinkling his nose a bit and looking over at the other man, “What in the Maker’s good name are you smoking? Cloves?”

\----

“And vanilla,” Dorian agreed with a nod, “I like a bit of dessert with my smoke breaks.” He smiled a little over at the other man and tipped his head to the side, “you often hang out on deck with the lights off? Or is this a special occasion?”

\----

One hand gestured to the night sky as the other brought his cigarette to scarred lips. “Special occasion. If we ship out tomorrow night, this'll be the last time we can turn the spots off and see the stars for a while. Gotta keep at least the running lights on for visibility out there, but it… hinders the view,” Cullen answered honestly. He was a bit embarrassed at the admission that he was basically stargazing, and part of him wondered why he admitted to it at all. There were plenty of practical reasons for turning the lights out, after all. Amber eyes cut over to see what reaction, if any, that got, and took in the shape of the other man's profile set against those stars. Again, something in his chest jumped and there was the fleeting thought _and it is a nice view_ ran through his mind before he could completely extinguish it. _Sweet Maker, maybe I'm more tired than I thought._

\----

Dorian smiled and took another long drag off his cigarette before he looked up and took in the sky. It was... actually beautiful. Very beautiful. Dorian didn’t like this little town or the boat or anything that much, but the view really was something to see out where they were. “You don’t get lights like this in Minrathous,” he commented before he looked back over at Cullen with a smile. Like this, quiet as he seemed to be, Cullen didn’t look nearly so big and gruff and scary. He looked…

_Nice._

Nice with those rather kind eyes and the way his mouth turned upward when he managed a smile. Nice with that rugged scar at his lip and how those curls fluttered at his forehead. Nice with his stretching and standing out in the darkness to look up at the stars.

_That is a very dangerous road to go down and you know it._

“I’m, um, glad to have a second attempt at a first impression,” Dorian offered, “by starlight is much better than by bad coffee, hm?”

\----

“Mmmm… I'd agree with that,” Cullen answered, turning his attention back to the sea and sky. “But maybe don't add that the hardass deck boss stands out watching the stars in your show,” he snorted a laugh before continuing, “I have a reputation to maintain, you know.” Or at least, _they'd_ given him a reputation, though honestly, he didn't mind being painted as aloof. He was. He kept to himself usually, and only opened up to a select few - the crew of The Herald and his family were the only ones on that short list.

“Minrathous is a far cry from the Frozen Seas, though. Must be quite a… shock.” What he really wanted to ask was what brought this man here in the first place, but considering that Cullen's own journey here was a touchy subject… well, he wouldn't want to be asked that question himself.

\----

Oh, but that little snorted laugh coming out of that burly Fereldan body was kind of cute. Dorian smiled, though this time it wasn’t quite the dazzling grin he used to blind people. This was something small and genuine and sweet. Maker help him if he started to actually like this man. Maybe he would, in time, but for tonight in the pretty moonlight Dorian might like him a little _too much_.

“And is that a reputation you planned out?” Dorian asked as he tucked his cigarette between his lips, “or is that one they gave you?” He was ignoring the question about Minrathous, though. That wasn’t something he really wanted to talk about. “I’ve watched a bit, and uh... you seem the strong, silent type,” he offered, “is that true, or is there something cuddly underneath it all?”

\----

“Cuddly?” he asked, eyebrow arched as Cullen turned to look at the man standing beside him. Any other time, a question like that from an almost complete stranger would have annoyed him. It was too… open, too familiar, especially from someone who needed to respect him on deck. Or, even if he didn't respect him, he did need to trust that Cullen knew what he was about and _listen_ to him. Greenhorns didn't get to talk to Cullen like that, they had to earn every joke made at his expense… or pay for them later. This… Dorian, he wasn't even a greenhorn. He was a cameraman - one that only 10 hours ago was right at the top of Cullen's shit list.

And yet, Cullen heard himself laughing, felt himself relax and even warm up a bit at the tease. Part of him wondered what was happening as he opened his mouth again, “Maker, no. Don't let the stars fool you, I'm mean to my core. They've got the right of me, I'm afraid.” And then he winked, actually _winked_ at Dorian as he stood and rolled his shoulders.

_No room for distraction, huh?_

\----

That was the ultimate surprise. Dorian blinked twice, then started laughing. This was the same man who’d gotten in his face that morning? Surely not. Surely that wasn’t the same man at all. “Yeah, I can tell,” he chuckled and leaned back against the railing as he watched Cullen for a long moment. The way the man moved: stretching and rolling his shoulders, and then that headache in the morning and he’d mentioned backaches. Was he hurting already? 

“Well, I won’t tell if you won’t,” he pointed out, “my executive producers would want me to follow up this softening thing and try to put a spin on it. So long as you don’t tell them I’m ‘missing an opportunity,’ then I won’t say a word of it to anyone.” Dorian used one hand for the air quotes then, and grinned again, “especially Alistair. He’s supposed to be afraid of you, isn’t he?”

\----

_Afraid of me, huh?_

“You know,” he sighed as he leaned back down on the rails and looked across the bay. “Whatever the show says, I don't _actually_ want anyone to be afraid of me. They just need to listen… on the deck, I mean.” He reached over then to put out his cigarette in the little closed container he kept near the controls for that purpose, then clasped his hands together in front of him. “Tempers run high and patience runs low when things are bad, is all. The show makes me look scary - I know what they say about me - but I'm just one guy trying to make sure everyone on the boat gets to go back home when all this is over.”

He couldn't remember the last time he'd talked so much about himself, even on this fairly shallow level. The chances he had to do so were low and his desire was even lower… usually. Still, Dorian had asked, and it would be rude not to, right? He'd spent the better part of the day being rude to him, and now that they were talking, he found he had no desire to continue in that same vein. In fact, Cullen rather liked the sound of the man's laugh and the curve of his mouth when he smiled and...

_Maker, stop._

\----

“I can see that,” he agreed with a nod. Having to be the big man on something like this, having to probably be the big bad, would probably paint a certain picture. It was easy to make someone like that look mean or scary, though that glare from before helped. “From what I saw,” Dorian went on, “you do a good job. Taking care of them, I mean. Spin or otherwise... it’s important to have someone who cares that much.”

This wasn’t the talk Dorian expected. He didn’t expect that bear of a man to look at him all sincere-like and have this conversation. It was a nice change from what he thought it was going to be, really, and Dorian _really_ liked the way his profile looked in the moonlight. Maker help him, he really didn’t need to have a fucking _crush_ on one of his... coworkers? Is that what they were in a weird way?

\----

Well, there it was. In some way, it had been Cullen’s _job_ to take care of people - to give them what they needed to know to survive, to train them up and help them reach their potential - all of his adult life. It left a bitter taste in his mouth to think about. Failure usually did that to someone, he imagined, and he _had_ failed. But here Dorian was, saying he was doing a good job - it somehow hurt and was what he wanted to hear all at the same time. Cullen’s face went blank and he heard an odd clicking noise coming from his throat as he tried to dig up some witty reply, more banter to keep it light. Something.

Nothing came, though - just that odd jumping in his chest he'd felt earlier. This was too much. He shouldn’t be out there under the moonlight, letting himself open up this way with someone who was sort of an honorary crew member, no matter how nice his smile or how... easy on the eyes he happened to be. This wasn’t a fucking romance novel, this was a crab boat, and there was a very real line there. Cullen’s role was clear - keep them working and keep them alive and unhurt. He couldn’t entertain _any_ unnecessary distraction, nor could he weaken his position further by continuing down this road. It wasn’t done. It overstepped so many boundaries, he was off the map. Cullen shook his head and felt his jaw clench as he stood up straight.

“Thank you. I’m glad someone noticed,” he said, working to keep his tone easy. It wasn’t Dorian’s fault Cullen had strayed so far outside of what was proper; he didn’t want the man to feel… chastised, like he’d done something wrong. He didn’t know any better. Cullen _did_. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it's getting late and I think it’s time to try and get some rest. And I suggest you do the same while you can. Long days starting tomorrow.” His voice remained low and he did manage a smile, but he couldn’t, shouldn’t let that happen again.

Still, it was apparent that one of his initial reactions from this morning held true - Dorian Pavus had a way about him that knocked Cullen completely off-kilter.

\----

“I’m right behind you,” Dorian answered as he took one last drag off his cigarette and crushed it under his boot, “the production team gives us so much money for extra shopping stuff, so I put in for a few things on the trip tomorrow. But, uh... how many cases of ramen does one boat _actually_ need?”

That change in demeanor didn’t quite escape Dorian, and he frowned a little. They’d been talking just fine and then... what? Cullen just shut down a little. Had he said something wrong? And more importantly, why did it matter? Cullen had been ready to rip his head off before, so anything was an improvement. But why did it bother him that Cullen seemed to visibly shut down in front of him? It shouldn’t, but it did a bit.

“Tomorrow,” Dorian prompted,  “I’m meant to do some of the day one interviews. You’ll have to be in on that, but I can do yours first so you can get going on what you need to do. Or you and samson together, maybe since both of you have a long list of stuff, right? Come find me when you’ve had enough coffee in the morning and I’ll do that first, alright? Quick, like... two minutes?”

\----

Back to business. That was better… or, rather, it was more comfortable. Within the lines, anyway, and Cullen thought that seeing Dorian with a camera again would remind him of the roles they were playing on this boat. Whatever that brief little period of _sharing_ had been on his part could be just that. A passing fancy that he'd indulged for a moment because the moon was full and he'd had a very strange day, nothing more.

“Ok, but unless you've got a private stash hidden somewhere, you're gonna be disappointed with the coffee situation,” Cullen started as they moved across the deck, “pretty sure we're out until they go shopping. But yeah, I'll grab Samson and find you in the morning. Get it over with… or that one, anyway.” Before he opened the door that led into the boat's interior, he chuckled, “Careful we don't catch you without your face on.” It was just a joke. Just a little jab, almost like he'd poke at any of the other guys. That much was ok. It was normal. The personal shit was where Cullen had to cut it off. If he did that, he'd be fine.

Right?

\----

“Good thing for you,” Dorian offered as he grabbed for the door to hold it open for himself as Cullen went inside, “I look amazing with or without the eyeliner.”

Now... now they slept and Dorian’s actual job started tomorrow. Between the nerves and the rocking of the boat he was a little concerned he might not sleep at all, honestly. The night before day one was always nerve wracking, and Dorian didn’t quite have the room to pace like he liked to do. In his head, he had a hundred different ideas, a hundred different angles and a hundred different compositions, and he just wanted to be _doing it_ already. Working made sense. Lying in a tiny bunk in the belly of a bigger-on-the-inside boat? That really didn’t make sense.

Still, as they made their way inside, Dorian couldn’t help but look Cullen over again from his new vantage point behind him. He’d have been lying if he’d said the deck boss didn’t have a nice arse, and it bothered him that he wanted to look. Ah well. Handsome subjects were bound to make the bad parts of this better, right? So long as he didn’t make it a point to focus the camera where it didn’t really belong.

\----

Finally alone in his bunk, Cullen wanted nothing more than to be alone on the deck again, but he'd cut that conversation short with the excuse of going to bed, so here he was. It was a small room, but at least it had a door and a bed that he actually fit on. It wasn't a comfortable one, so he'd sacrificed a few changes of clothing to bring an extra mattress pad so his back would only grumble at him each time he woke up rather than scream. He also brought a few blankets from home - that scratchy number Trev set them up with just didn't cut it. Cullen had made the whole thing as comfortable as he could… but he still couldn't sleep. As much as he loved the boat, sleeping on her came no easier than sleeping at home. As always, he had to be completely exhausted, otherwise, he'd do what he was doing now, and just lie there, wide awake and restless as his mind spooled through whatever caught its fancy.

The topic of choice tonight, unsurprisingly, was the odd, borderline ridiculous, day he'd had. He'd gotten angry for no good reason, had jumped to conclusions, and mouthed off to Trev. At the center of all that had been Dorian and an intense and instant dislike… approaching loathing. He'd let himself get so worked up over… what, really? Nothing of consequence, outside of a gut feeling.

And then somehow, he'd ended the day showing that very same man a side of himself that he didn't even share with the crew. He liked the night sky. He didn't want to be thought of as scary or mean. Those were _personal_ things, things he usually kept to himself.

The whole day had been a confusing mess. He could only hope the rest of the season would be better… or at least make more sense to him.

And then the alarm was going off and Cullen let it hit snooze three times before he finally dragged himself out of bed, stretched as best he could, pulled on some clothes, and set out in search of Samson so they could get their interview over with. Except Samson was having none of it. He'd been up most of the night in the engine room, and had a few choice phrases for Cullen when he tried to wake the sleeping engineer. Cullen considered putting his foot down just so he wouldn't have to do it alone, but in the end, it wasn't worth the fight. At all.

So, alone then, he walked out into the galley where Dorian was already waiting. “Morning,” Cullen grunted, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand and clutching his red cap with the other. “Afraid you're stuck with just me.” Cullen eyed the camera and sighed. “Where do you wanna go for this? Here?”

\----

Had he slept? Maybe at some point for a couple of hours, but Dorian was starting to really feel that rocking and he felt... fucking awful. His head was swimming, and he leaned over the low table in the galley in attempt to just settle his stomach. In the bathroom, under the dim and yellow lightbulb, his face had looked actually green. Maker, they hadn’t even left yet, and he wanted to just throw up everything that was in his churning stomach and not move.

He turned to look over at Cullen, who looked just as tired but not nearly as sick, and Dorian swallowed thickly, “Maybe, uh... up and out?” Dorian asked. Inside smelled too much like thick smoke and engine and rubber and it was making it worse. “I need some fresh air,” he went on, “if that’s alright for you?”

\----

Somehow, Dorian looked worse than Cullen felt. He'd suspected yesterday that the boat was making the man ill, and here was solid proof looking at him in the face. The big deck boss stopped for a moment, standing as still as he could to gauge the rocking of the boat. Solid, or as solid as The Herald ever was - they were _docked_ for Andraste’s sake. Lines thicker than Cullen's arm secured the boat to concrete and steel pylons to _keep_ it from rocking much while they were loading and unloading. This… this really didn't bode well at all for the cameraman. His first few days out, that first big storm… they were going to be interesting. Hopefully, the man would adapt, though Cullen did feel a bit of perverse glee at the prospect of the show getting a whole lot of footage of Dorian's boots.

Still, the situation was less than ideal, _and_ there was no coffee on top of it. Cullen yawned and ran a hand through his hair before rolling his shoulders to work out the stiffness that had settled there during sleep. Maker, but mornings were the worst. “How about up and _off_? There's a place on the docks does an ok breakfast and has decent coffee. You look like you could use… something to settle your stomach. At least toast; running on empty only makes it worse.”

He must be going soft. He'd have told a greenhorn to suck it up… but at least greenhorns had the advantage, usually, of having been on a boat before. Dorian… well, at this point it was crystal clear to Cullen that this really was a whole new world for the man.

\----

Oh, land. Land would be amazing. Land, yes, but food? The thought of putting anything in his stomach made it cramp harder, but he ignored it for the moment. “Off is good,” he agreed after a long moment and nodded slowly. Any more rocking motion, and he would probably throw up what little was left in him. “Off would be very, very good.”

One hand lifted to run through his hair, which was free of the oil from the day before, and Dorian gripped a bit harder at the longer strands to ground himself a little more. Something about that light tug helped him forget about the sickness rolling in him, which was nice. “Let me just grab my bag,” he prompted, “I’ll be a minute.”

And then there was the fact that the man who’d spoken to him like an inept child the day before was asking him to breakfast now. After a lovely little chat the night before. Were he less sick he might have thought about it more, but at the moment the most important thing was that the nice man was getting him off this nausea inducing probable-deathtrap. Even if it was for food he didn’t want, he’d take a decent conversation on dry land over pretty much anything for the moment.

So he grabbed up his camera bag, slung it over his shoulder, and headed back for the galley from his and Varric’s little room, “was there anywhere else we needed to go?” Dorian asked, “please tell me we’re not in charge of that shopping list. I think my last essay at Uni was shorter than it is.”

\----

Well, that seemed to cheer him up. Good thing, too, because Cullen didn’t think he’d survive an interview without some coffee in him. Ugh, the interview. It was the same shit every year. The same questions about prep and what to expect in the upcoming season. And this would be the first of many he knew he’d be roped into. At least Dorian had been considerate enough to try and get it done first thing - Solas had always tried to get him in the middle of working for the more _authentic_ feeling. It always pissed him off, so his answers tended to be terse and growled out the side of his mouth. Which, of course, played into how the show portrayed him.

That little bit of consideration, though… maybe this year _would_ be different. So far, it seemed like Dorian’s promise yesterday to stay out of his way was genuine. And all Cullen had done in response was to give him a lecture on honesty because of the words he’d chosen. _Yeah, I’m a real piece of work,_ he thought as he waited for Dorian to grab his stuff.

“No, I don’t go anywhere near the shopping,” Cullen replied when Dorian asked his question, “If I go, I end up with a headache and someone eventually rolls their eyes and gives me a ‘yes, mother.’ It’s like herding cats - you can’t take these guys out into public. They’re not fit.” They were on their way now, and the cold morning air went a long way towards waking Cullen the rest of the way up. He was awake enough now, for example, to notice that whatever it was that had held Dorian’s hair in place yesterday was missing, as was the eyeliner. _Caught him without his face on,_ he thought with a little smile and tried his best not to notice that, yes, in fact… Dorian was still nice to look at, even without the moonlight or the styling, and even with the apparent seasickness. Shit, even this early in the morning when Cullen was usually reduced to grunts and growls until that first cup of coffee and a cigarette, he noticed.

Which was not, strictly speaking, a good thing. He straightened up and faced forward as he led the way to the little breakfast place. _There’s a line there. Mind it._

“It’s just over here. A little off the beaten path and scary as fuck from the outside, but the kitchen’s clean,” Cullen explained as he pointed the way, “At least, I’m pretty sure it is. Beats the shit out of Blackwall’s cooking, though… when we have the luxury of actually cooking something, that is.”

\----

Dry land was great. Dry land was solid. Dry land still felt like it was rocking under his feet. Dry land was still better, though, and he felt a lot better being on it. The day was going to be a full one, and Dorian’s nervous energy hadn’t quite melted away, but something like this was a good start. A real talk, and not just one of the interviews would probably be even better than whatever manufactured shit he caught on camera while people were busy.

“Is there anything in this town that doesn’t look dodgy as fuck?” Dorian asked as he tucked a cigarette between his lips. The first one of the day was better with coffee, but this would do. For now. A bit of a cigarette and a chat was better than not.

As they walked Dorian cast a few glances to the side to look at Cullen in the rising sunlight. He still looked tired, but there was something about that strong, scruffy jaw and those curls that blew in the wind that was lovely. Actually lovely. It wasn’t something he should have noticed or thought too hard about, but Maker help him if the man didn’t seem inordinately kind at the moment. Though kindness could be a hundred different things. At this point, maybe, it was a mutual respect. Maybe it was because Dorian, thus far, hadn’t treated Cullen like a _subject_.

“So,” he commented as they walked, “I have a... list of questions.” One hand gestured toward the bag, “Some are pretty generic and some are tailored to the different people on the boat that I guess they wrote based on the last few seasons. I thought maybe you could look over them and maybe veto the ones you don’t want to answer, or... you know, decide what you want to say. I didn’t want to blindside you when you were in the middle of things with them, even though I’m _sure_ I’m supposed to.”

\----

Well, that was new. Cullen's eyebrows rose in shock he couldn't quite hide - no one had ever asked him to vet an interview before. The questions didn't change much over the years, though. Cullen never gave them much to work with outside the business of the boat. His personal life was just that - _personal._ Also non-existent, but it was the point of the thing. He did, however, look forward to the subtle ways the questions themselves changed to try and pry something out of him. It always made him smile to think how _mad_ they must be that they knew only a little more about him now than they did the first season.

“Oh, I'm sure I know what's coming,” he answered lightly as they crossed the street. The café, if that's what you wanted to call it, was just a little ways down. They'd be there in no time, and then Cullen planned to down an entire pot of coffee. With cream and sugar of course. “A bit about what we're doing to get ready, a little about what we think’ll happen this season, and then several designed to get me to talk about myself. I've never met the writers, but I like to think we have a fun little game going.”

Really, he gave them precious little to work with. Even on the website, the facts in his bio were all about his fishing career. The few things they'd added to his dry write up had been gleaned from internet records and the one or two times he'd humored them with an answer. He had to throw them a bone every now and then to keep them playing, after all.

“But thanks, man. Thanks for offering. I… appreciate it.”

\----

Dorian shrugged. It was too early to start thinking about writers and angles and all that kind of thing. He felt like his brain was sloshing through thick pudding, and honestly he sort of hoped that doing it this way might make it easier for everyone. It wasn’t how things were normally done, but Dorian didn’t often do things the way they normally done anyway. So long as it was still viable, it didn’t matter. He just wanted something... better, more interesting, for this. Ironically, something like this was more real than getting in someone’s face in the middle of work, or so it felt to him.

“What about what’s not on the list?” Dorian asked with a small smile, “and... off the record?” he wasn’t in the habit of giving over things that people didn’t want told, since privacy was a maid concern of his as well, but he _was_ interested. These men were interesting. They were people that did something no one else did and there had to be some...something to it. Even if it was just ‘good money with a side of adventure’ or something like that. “Are, uh... I mean, we don’t need to have any heart to hearts, but it might not be the worst to get to know each other a bit? Since I’ll be sort of on top of you for the next however many weeks.”

_Though perhaps not the way I would like, but save that for the five minute showers you get alone._

\----

The words _Yeah, sure_ were on his tongue, but Cullen bit them back. _There's a line. Mind it._ Dorian had managed to flip Cullen's opinion of him dramatically in a day. Dorian had a nice smile and eyes that Cullen was finding it harder and harder to look away from.

Dorian was also one of them. ‘Off the record’ didn't exist in Cullen's experience. He was taken off guard by how straightforward that request was - _get to know each other -_ and he couldn't help but wonder how much of that was genuine and how much was trying to get Cullen to talk while he was wearing a damn microphone. It may not have been fair or a nice thought, but there it was.

That, and the man was part of the larger group who'd need to listen to Cullen once they got going. Talks under the stars aside, when they shipped out, it wouldn't do for anything Cullen may have told him to make Dorian second guess him. Or, perhaps worse, for Dorian to feel like they were friends and he was somehow immune. Or, Maker, what if he got his feelings hurt when Cullen snapped at him? Personal ties were… complicated. They clouded judgment and made people do dumb things when the stakes were high. They'd made _Cullen_ do dumb things when lives were on the line. He wasn't keen to make that mistake again.

All the banter and joking and shit talking aside, even his crew didn't know much about him or how he was off the boat. Trev knew him the best, of course, but even with him, Cullen was hesitant.

_He's waiting for an answer._

“Depends on what you want to know, I guess,” Cullen shrugged, trying his best to hide the internal struggle that had just played out. “And if my mic’s on.”

He found he couldn’t entirely squash that idea, the idea of getting to know each other; he could take Dorian's questions as they came, after all. And didn't a little part of him want to keep talking to Dorian - to get to know _him_? He'd had the thought yesterday that there was more under the surface, and he still wanted to know if he was right. At least, in the small way he could allow and still toe the line. Just that much.

\----

“Like this?” Dorian asked, “no mics. Maker help me, no mics.” He shook his head slowly again and sighed, “No, just... talking. Like, say,” he began as Cullen led them to the cafe to open the door, “how do you take your coffee? In the event I should ever make some in the hopes of placating the crew?”

The longer he was on the ground, the better he felt. His head cleared a little, and though he was tired, Dorian could feel that same sort of crushing nausea that didn’t seem to stop. Maybe he’d have to actually use those seasickness patches, since they hadn’t even left dock, and Dorian felt like death warmed up.

“I’m not looking for an angle,” Dorian went on after a long moment as they found a booth and took a seat, “speaking _honestly_ , hm? I’m just... we have to kind of live together’s all.”

\----

That… made sense. And if all he meant was that he wanted to know things like how the guys took their coffee, well, that was ok. That didn't cross any lines. As Cullen settled into the booth across from Dorian, the thought crossed his mind that maybe he was overreacting a bit. Dorian said he wanted to get to know him better, not that he wanted to hear Cullen's life story while they stayed up all night braiding each other's hair. The fact that he'd been so straightforward about it had put Cullen on his back foot a bit, was all. As long as he kept his head about him, it'd be fine.

“Can't say as I ever thought of it that way, but I guess you're right,” he began as he eyeballed the menu, though he really didn't need to. Cullen Rutherford was a creature of habit in all things, breakfast food included. “And, ah, to answer your question, prepare to be surprised by the amount of cream and sugar I'm about to run through.” He fell silent for a beat and then added, “You're looking a little puny over there. The boat getting to you already?”

Well, shit. That sounded rude. Cullen could feel that damnable heat that meant he was flushing creep up on his face, and he raised a hand to work the knot in his neck as he looked out a window that could have used a good twice-over with a rag and cleaner. “I mean, not that you look _bad_ \- you don't look bad… just ill. And it can take a while to get used to the boat if you haven't, you know, really been on one like it before. It's understandable. No... ah... no offense meant.” The words came out stuttered and just a shade too quickly, and Cullen let his hand fall back on the table with a sigh. _What is wrong with you?_

Maker, but he was out of practice in dealing with new people. He'd never been particularly good at it outside of work, and he was dismayed but unsurprised to see that hadn't changed. It was just another thing that he didn't necessarily want to crew - or all of Thedas, for that matter - to see: just how fucking awkward he was outside of his comfort zone.

\----

Dorian blinked. So the man that glared and growled at him yesterday was also the type to let words come pouring out like a waterfall and then _blush_. It shouldn’t have been endearing. It shouldn’t have been _cute_ , but it kind of was. Even in the very early morning with no coffee and a sick stomach, Dorian was smiling a little because this big burly man who slung giant steel traps and probably giant crustaceans was _blushing_ at him.

“I don’t really do well on the water,” Dorian answered after a moment before he looked down at the menu. Now that his stomach was settling he found he could probably eat a little, and he was surprised to see a ‘light eaters’ option. Obviously this place probably saw a fair few in his situation. “Never have,” he went on, “that, uh... boating class? I spent the majority of that time throwing up over the rail.”

Manicured fingers tapped against the table, and he cleared his throat again. A waitress came by to drop off mugs and so they could order the biggest carafe of something strong that they had, and Dorian smiled as she walked away and turned his attention back to Cullen, “I brought a bunch of those seasickness patches, so hopefully that’ll help. And probably a lot of that... you know that stuff they give kids when they’re sick with all the electrolytes and stuff? That. Whatever it takes, you know? Unless you know of any old fisherman’s remedies.”

\----

“Ginger or peppermint helps some folks,” Cullen answered quickly before shaking his head, a mixture of disbelief and amusement on his face,”but, uh, you _did_ know what job you were applying for, right? They pull a bait and switch, or.... ?”

Part of it _was_ funny, but it was also disconcerting. Very. Inexperienced on a boat was one thing. ‘Don't do well on the water’ was a completely different animal. Even in fair weather, the Frozen Seas were choppy - the boat would be rolling on the waves the whole time. And Maker help the man when the first storm hits…

\----

“No, no bait and switch,” Dorian answered, “I elected to not tell them about that and instead went on about my adventurous nature. Which... exists, but a friend of mine told me that maybe my idea of ‘adventurous’ might not be the same as theirs.” He shrugged then and bit a little at his lip as he looked over the menu page again, “I’ll hold you to this off the record thing, and because I’m feeling a bit ill and vulnerable I’ll admit that this was sort of... my only option. I need to work, and they were willing to hire me. So here I am, and if it takes sticking ten of those patches all over me to make sure I can do the work, then that’s what I’ll have to do. It is what it is.”

He looked up to meet those amber eyes, “I know it’s a liability, in a way, but I’m sure you lot get guys who come in from places with nothing but farmland around. I’ll figure it out.”

\----

The amusement slid right off his face while Dorian spoke. Brows knit together, not in anger, not really… more like concern and a bit of frustration. _So I was right when I thought he didn't want to be here,_ Cullen thought as he bit the inside of his bottom lip. Not only did Dorian not want to be there, it was a choice made as a last resort - to go on a crab boat in the Frozen Seas during fall and winter. If it hadn't been _his_ cameraman on _his_ boat, it would have been funny in just how far-fetched it was. Most normal people didn't opt for one of the deadliest jobs in Thedas when strapped for cash. They worked fast food or on a factory line or... Maker, _anything_ but this. He couldn't decide if Dorian was brave or crazy or both. Probably a little of both, with maybe a bit of overconfident and stubborn thrown into the mix.

Of course, that was pretty much all of them on those boats. You had to be a little… different to pick that as a living. But they'd all chosen that life - it wasn't a last resort, or it usually wasn't, and if it was, the sea sorted them out, one way or the other.

“Yeah, it's a liability… and it's…” he started, voice cast low. “It's not something to just dismiss and say you'll figure out. It's serious out there, and if you're sick, if you can't stand…” he trailed off, jaw working as he tried to find a way to say this without coming off like an ass. “I just… I don't want anyone to get hurt, and that includes you. I meant that.”

\----

“I’m not dismissing it,” he answered, “I have to figure it out, and I will. That’s really all there is to it, isn’t there? You work through it.” He closed over the menu, decided on an egg white scramble and toast, and rested his chin in his hand, “I know it’s not what I’d expected. Or wanted, when it happened, but I’m finding I’m liking it more and more. Maybe, uh... maybe I’m more adventurous than I thought.”

Their coffee came then, as well as a small jug of milk and Dorian ordered his plate with another small smile. As the waitress left, he turned back to Cullen and searched his face, “did you get sick the first time? Hard to imagine you chucking up over the side.”

\----

Cullen wasn't convinced, and he pressed his lips into a thin line as he mixed his coffee and placed his order - scrambled eggs, hash browns, toast, bacon… and extra bacon on the side. The waitress left, and Dorian shifted the focus onto Cullen. It was inevitable - he was supposed to be doing an interview at some point - but what the man had said earlier still didn't sit well with him. He felt a little like he was sending a new recruit into battle unarmed. It was dangerous. It was fucking irresponsible on the part of whoever hired Dorian to do this job. And he said he was beginning to like it? He'd only been at it half a day, really, and they were _docked_. He didn't know; he wasn't prepared.

But he was going. Cullen could tell that much by the look in his eye and the set of his jaw. Determined or prideful or just plain stubborn, Cullen didn't know. He just knew he was between a rock and a hard place. If Dorian had come to Trev as a green deckhand and said ‘this is my only option and I don't do well on water, but I'm adventurous,’ he'd never have been allowed to set foot on the boat. That was a fact. As it stood, though, they'd signed a contract allowing the show’s crew on board. Maybe whatever it was in the man that made him turn to this would carry him through. Maybe he could work through it, as he said.

Cullen didn't work well with maybes, though. So now he was faced with a choice - err on the side of caution and have that talk about finding a new camera guy with Trev after all, or let it ride and gamble on _maybe_. Amber eyes rose to meet grey, and after a long moment of consideration and measuring, he decided to… wait and see. They'd be back here in two weeks or so with the first offload. He could make the call then, after Dorian had actually been out to sea. It was no less dangerous, but there was something about the man that made Cullen want to let him try.

That didn't mean anyone, least of all Cullen, would take it easy on him. But that was part of it, too. Dorian would see.

After a lengthy silence, Cullen finally relented and let his shoulders relax. “Is this part of the interview? Because, on the record: no.” His face softened a bit then, and he let a little sigh escape his lips, “ _Off_ the record: also no. I grew up in a little fishing town on Lake Calenhad. Been on boats almost all my life.” He took a gulp of coffee. It was too hot, but just what he needed. That would put him to rights. As he set the cup back down he chuckled, a soft sound and barely there, before he added, “But that doesn't mean I never did stupid shit when I started crabbing.”

\----

“Ah, everyone does stupid things when they start out, don’t they?” he asked as he poured a mug and stirred in a touch of milk before he sipped it. Dorian smiled as he watched Cullen drink at that coffee. On any other morning, though perhaps a few hours later, this could have been a lovely breakfast... well, not date. Breakfast catch up? Meeting? Something like that. And he’d been right about being surprised about all that sugar and milk.

Though that silence was worrisome. It stretched on for a lot longer than Dorian was comfortable with. “Do you eyeball up everyone like this?” he asked after a long moment and another drink of coffee, “or is it just everyone that comes on the boat?” The tone wasn’t accusatory, just... factual. “Because I feel like I’m being sized up every time you look at me. Normally that means something else, but I doubt it’s that.” He waggled his eyebrows just a bit before he managed a small smile, “I keep thinking things have worked out for a reason. It’s just a feeling I’ve got, in a weird way.”

\----

_Well that was… what was that?_

Dorian was right of course, that's exactly what Cullen was doing. He'd been constantly evaluating and re-evaluating his opinion of the man since he met him. Measuring him, though now it was with far less aggression and much more worry than yesterday, when it had been about bad first impressions and deciding if the man was worthy. Now, Cullen just didn't want him or any of the crew to get in trouble due to Dorian’s woeful lack of experience… of any kind.

But that little face he made had Cullen blinking and he took a sip from his coffee to try and mask his… well, he wasn't sure what it was. Confusion? Shock? Something. He just knew it took him a little off guard and made him feel a way he couldn’t identify. Dorian seemed to have that effect on him.

“Well, I… I guess I am, yes,” he replied after he swallowed his coffee and composed himself a bit better. “Everyone who comes on the boat, to answer your question. It's, ah, part of my job, to feel people out, you know. At least as far as working on The Herald is concerned.” He paused and thought for a moment before adding, “I'm… glad you feel better about things, but _we_ have to feel ok with you, too.” And then, Maker help him, curiosity got the better of him, “What is it normally, though, the sizing up? Find yourself sitting across from… well, people like me often?”

\----

“Like _you_?” Dorian asked, then let out a chuckle. That probably came off as rude, though, and he held up a hand and shook his head, “I mean, I’d probably be hard pressed to find anyone quite like _you_ anywhere.” He smirked, sipped his coffee, and lifted one hand to smooth at his mustache, “I’d be pretty hip to bet that you’re one of a kind.”

And that was true. The men who normally sat across from him for breakfast were nothing at all like the man before him now. Then again, the only types he had breakfast with were actually friends. The men he spent his nights with never made it to breakfast unless it was a bit of the hair of the dog and some excuse to either leave or have them leave.

“But no, no one like you,” Dorian finished after a moment, “I don’t typically get asked to breakfast at the break of dawn unless I haven’t been to sleep yet.”

\----

“Ah,” Cullen replied and nodded his head... until the meaning of what Dorian said hit him, and his eyes widened a bit. “Oh! Oh, I see.” That damn heat was back in his face, his hand shot back to the base of his skull, and suddenly, the designs on the cheap plastic tablecloth covering the table in front of him were just _so incredibly_ interesting. Anything to take his mind off… well, just _off_. Anyway, _not_ entertaining the thought of _Dorian_ and _not sleeping_ and what that might entail with his skin like burnished bronze and full lips that looked so very soft and nice hands with graceful fingers and… _STOP_.

“Well, ah, I'll remind you that _you_ were the one to pick the time. For an interview. Which, by the way, shouldn't we be doing? Or did you… did you want to eat first? And go back to the boat for the… I don't know, ambiance of the thing? Whatever you want to do, of course. This is your thing, not mine.”

Again, his words came too fast and broken. That was twice only this morning that Dorian had him stumbling over himself. _Pull it together, Rutherford, damn._

\----

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Were they anywhere else and not potentially roommates (more or less) for the next six weeks or so, Dorian would have pulled out his watch and made some joke about getting the big, burly man to blush in record time. That sputtering and wordfall _usually_ meant someone was interested, and Dorian could have certainly been interested in this Fereldan beast of a man with his blond curls and scarred lip, but again... essentially housemates and coworkers in the same breath. That never worked out well, especially if there had to be a level of trust involved. That said, he wouldn’t have minded to grab a handful of Cullen’s arse on the way out when they went back to the ship, but he’d keep that to himself.

“Why don’t we eat and caffeinate first,” he offered with a small smile, “talks are usually a bit better when all parties are awake, hm?” One finger traced along the edge of his jaw as he spoke, and Dorian couldn’t help that little sense of pride he felt. It was one thing to make a man stumble in his tracks, but it was something else entirely to make a man like _this_ blush like something entirely filthy had just been whispered in his ear by merely sitting there. “I’m sure everyone will be up and doing by the time we get back anyway,” Dorian pointed out, “we can do that first interview so everything looks professional and not at all like we were having breakfast together.”

Grey eyes searched that handsome face, and for a moment Dorian might have wished he wasn’t actually doing this. He wished this was a little diner in the city and they’d been out all night. He wished Cullen had roused them both from probably his very comfortable bed and made all kinds of promises about breakfast in Dorian’s ear as he kissed him. It was just a stab of _want_ that went right through him, and it wasn’t a productive kind. They were there, about to do a very difficult and dangerous job, and that kind of distraction could potentially be very bad. He couldn’t afford very bad.

“And we can talk about something a bit lighter now, if you like,” he offered, “like... well, a bit like this, and what I’ve seen of the show. Is it because you lot never sleep for longer than four or five hours that it seems like all you eat is breakfast food? Because every meal I’ve ever seen people cook on this show is eggs and bacon in piles I haven’t seen since the cafeteria at Uni.”

\----

He'd just wanted coffee, really. That's all Cullen had had on his mind earlier when he suggested this outing. Well, that and he didn't necessarily want to risk vomit on his shoes, but either way, he hadn't thought of it as more than a quick bite to eat in the same general area before work. He realized now, too late, that perhaps that _line_ he was so obsessed with earlier may have been crossed. If not by the breakfast, then certainly by those errant thoughts he couldn't seem to get rid of entirely.

_No, no. It's just a meal,_ he thought as he gulped down more coffee. A refill wouldn't be remiss at this point, and he was pretty sure the food should be getting there any fucking minute. He needed something to do with his hands, not to mention something to occupy his mind. This… whatever those thoughts meant… it was dangerous, and he was just going to have to work harder to stop this distraction before it had a chance to get worse. It was frustrating. This wasn't at all like him, but he'd always been able to shut shit like this down. He could do it again.

But for now, he was stuck. Stuck sitting across Dorian, and wondering just what the fuck was wrong with himself.

“It's easy to cook,” he answered, still recovering, eyes locked on the cup in his hands. “And none of us are what you'd call chefs, so bacon and eggs it is most meals. Or that ramen if there's no time. When we're steaming back for the last time, though, we usually try to do a big meal. Trev’s doing.”

\----

He nodded, “I can see that,” and chewed a little on his lower lip as he watched the other man. It seemed now he was in a slightly worse place. Nervous or uncomfortable. that hadn’t been Dorian’s intention. Sure, he liked to make people blush (and Cullen’s was glorious), but never to the point of making them feel weird. “Well, I’m no chef either, but I can do a bit more than bacon and eggs now and then. Maybe the others will let me have a go sometime?” Dorian offered.

This whole thing had been a little unexpected, and while Dorian was glad for a bit more time on dry land, he was wondering a bit what to do next. To do the interview here would certainly paint Cullen in a less work oriented light, and while that would be an interesting angle for him to work he didn’t want to put Cullen in a situation that made him feel like Dorian was taking advantage.

“So,” he began after a moment, “I have a thought. We can do this interview here, ask about your thoughts on the coming season and all that with a plate of eggs and bacon and it not be on the boat.” Dorian smoothed at his mustache again, “But I have a feeling it might, ah, change a bit of how people view you. Less the hardass deck boss and more the normal guy who goes out for breakfast the day before you leave with the camera man. Make you more, I suppose, approachable or something. It would be different, but I understand if you’d like to keep that game with the writers and all that up. That said: if we do it here, provided the owner doesn’t mind, it’s out of the way. And it’s mostly up to you. I don’t want to put you in an awkward place.”

\----

_Shit._ He was being so fucking nice. Why was he being so nice about all this? It was making it harder for Cullen to establish the separation he thought proper here. He wasn't Dorian's boss, no, but on the deck out at sea, he was an authority figure of sorts. Someone to whom Dorian had to listen, at least when things got rough. It wouldn't do to be… overly familiar. It wouldn't do to be second guessed, even with the best of intentions. _Why couldn't he just keep being the little prick I thought he was?_

Because that would have been too easy, apparently.

He opened his mouth to reply, but closed it firmly when the waitress stopped by to unceremoniously drop their plates before them and refill their cups. When she'd left, he mixed more milk and sugar into his coffee and opened his mouth again. “Whatever’s easiest for you. What I say matters more than where I say it.” Big hands wrapped around his coffee cup and lifted it to his lips again before he stopped and added, “... though, ah, it might be weird if only mine was off the boat.”

Despite what he'd just said, The Herald was familiar territory for him, and hadn't Dorian said it would look like they'd had breakfast… together? Which they were, but suddenly that seemed to mean a little more than it did when he'd suggested they get off the boat earlier.

\----

“That’s an excellent point,” Dorian agree with a nod, “so we finish here, and go back and take care of it, yes?” He smiled then and picked up his fork to inspect it first, then poke a bit at the eggs. He was hungry-ish, but somehow that egg-white scramble didn’t seem so appetising now that it was in front of him and he could smell it. It was going to be a long day.

So instead he picked up some toast and grabbed out one of the little single serve jams so he could spread some strawberry flavor over the slightly undertoasted bread. This would do for now, hopefully, and Dorian nibbled at it. “So what _are_ your hopes for this season?” he asked, “good numbers, no injuries, done in a reasonable amount of time?”

\----

Cullen tucked into his eggs almost as soon as he'd finished speaking before, so he took a moment to swallow and wipe his mouth with a paper napkin. “All those things, yes,” he answered, easier now that there was food in front of him. “Which is about my answer to that one every year, but it's more important this year to fill the quota clean and quick, because…” _Fuck_. Cullen had no idea how much of the boat's financial crisis Trev had told them. This was all supposed to be off the record, but that information wasn't his to give even if he'd wanted to. “... because it's important. Plus, we've got a greenhorn this year, so I'll be watching him. Want to keep him from killing himself and maybe teach him a few things so he'll be useful next year. 

_Smooth._

“And what about you,” Cullen continued, hoping to get the subject away from his slip. “What do you hope to get out of this, really? A paycheck? Because there are easier ways, believe me.” He picked up a piece of bacon and started on it as he waited to see where Dorian would go with that. It was just a cover to get the man talking about something other than the boat's business. That's all it was. He wasn't genuinely interested. Not at all.

Except, of course, he was.

\----

He nibbled on his toast a little as he thought about that. Yes, his reasons for being there weren’t particularly noble. Dorian knew that. To anyone else it would have been crazy, and it _was_ , but it was his level of crazy. Dorian Pavus never did anything by halves, and if he was going to be put in this situation, then he was going to do it as spectacularly as he would something he’d lined up on purpose. There had to be some nobility in that, right?

“Well, a paycheck is good,” he agreed, “but I suppose a bit of adventure is good. I’d been doing a lot of the same thing for a while, and this is... so completely different. I think it might be good for me to do something hard that’s both mentally and physically out of my comfort zone.” Dorian shrugged, “I’ve been accused of living a very pampered life, which isn’t actually wrong, and I think the problems that I’ve got would be put into some very good perspective out here. Having to work hard to actually achieve is something that I’ve strived to do, and this most certainly will make me work.”

Dorian smiled then, “And it’s a chance to tell a real story. I know the writers and directors almost seem to, uh... romanticize what you all do. Ironic, isn’t it? Do a documentary about one of the most dangerous jobs in all of Thedas and it makes the average joe at home think they could do it? I want... I want to do something real. Something that tells your story and makes it _real_.”

\---

Ah, so Dorian needed to shake things up, did he? Well, this would definitely do it, in spades. Cullen watched as Dorian poked half-heartedly at his eggs, his face still wearing the lingering pallor of sick. _Yes, this'll be a real shock to his system._ Time would tell if that shock would make or break him, but Cullen was committed to giving him until that first offload to make any firm conclusions. Even that much was a far cry from yesterday - amazing the difference a day and a little conversation could make.

Dorian wanted to make this more real. It was a nice sentiment, and one that resonated with Cullen. Other than the fact that he had to work with cameras all around him, that was one of the biggest issues he had with the show - it tended to focus on the stupid squabbling on deck and made a production of his life. He'd watched some of the first season with an open mind… well, open for him, anyway. He was against it from the word go, but thought he'd give it a chance. They'd played up the arguments, between deck hands and between boat crews, but lost all the… humanity. For the drama, for ratings, Cullen assumed, they'd picked up on one aspect of everyone's personality and made them a caricature of it. Trev was laidback, Sam was crude, Blackwall was overly serious, Barris was naive, and Cullen… Cullen was an ass. Those were all just elements of the whole, pieces of the puzzle. Cullen knew that Trev had a quiet steel to him and Sam cracked nasty jokes to hide a heart that just wanted to do right by his crew. Cullen knew those things, but the world didn't - because of that show, they were all… simplified, less than they were, and he felt _judged_ every time the camera was on him.

Maybe that was why this whole thing really bothered him. Not the intrusion or the inexperienced cameramen, though those things were annoying and dangerous, but the fact that the whole of Thedas was watching and measuring and deciding based on careful editing and shallow narration. Cullen had already judged himself, hadn't he? Long ago, he found himself wanting in the end, which was why he was even there on The Herald. He didn't need to world doing it for him.

Apparently, Dorian needed a change too, and if he was reading it right… maybe for similar reasons. Cullen could respect that. Maybe he wouldn't have picked this particular assignment were he in Dorian's shoes, but he'd been there.

Cullen took a moment to inspect Dorian's expression for any hint that the comment about telling a _real_ story was just a line, amber eyes moving across the man's face from over the rim of his coffee mug. There was that same earnest light in those grey eyes that had surprised Cullen so much yesterday. Dorian was speaking the truth as far as Cullen could tell. It was already abundantly clear that this year would be different from all the others - case in point, he'd never taken a meal off boat with just him and someone from the show before - and maybe this time, different wouldn't be so bad.

_What if_ ranged in his mind again, and he realized that he _liked_ this guy, despite everything yesterday... and that he shouldn't, just on principle. He shouldn't, for many reasons, but Dorian said he wanted it to be real and he meant it, and that… touched Cullen in a way he couldn't describe.

“I don't have a story to tell,” he began slowly, “but the sea does. I can… I can respect what you're doing, though I wonder if your editors will show your work that way.” He took a sip of coffee and then picked up his fork and poked at his potatoes. “But if you're gonna do your job, you're gonna have to get over that seasickness. That boat's small, and the sea has its way with her, fair warning.”

He paused and sniffed as he looked out that window again. This was new territory for him, and this amount of consideration for a green _camera guy_ was well outside of his comfort zone, but the more he heard from Dorian, the more he wanted him to… well, to succeed. Still, it was odd and frustrating to boot - Dorian had already shaken his status quo, and would likely only continue to do so. “We'll make sure the guys pick up some ginger and peppermint when they go out. I know how to make a tea, and even the ginger candy is supposed to help settle things. In case your patches don't cut it.” He looked back at Dorian, face serious, “Now eat. Really, it may come back up later, but at least you've given your body _something_ to run on... And we should maybe also add crackers and those meal bars or soup to the list so you have something not greasy or too salty when we cast off.”

_I'm not coddling him. I'm not. I'm making my job easier by making sure he doesn't pass out on deck because he can't keep anything down._

\----

Grey eyes lowered to the plate of eggs in front of him, and Dorian could feel his stomach turn. He was reminded of a nanny trying to feed him when he was sick as a child. He hadn’t wanted to then, didn’t want to now, but unlike then Dorian found himself lifting some of that egg and herb and potato mixture into his mouth. It felt thick as concrete as he chewed it, but he did chew it, and manage to swallow. Something about that gentle prodding as opposed to all out threatening made him _want_ to do the right thing. Being contrary just for the sake of it didn’t really help anyone, after all.

“I would imagine I’ll be quite well acquainted with the railing and that tiny bathroom by the end of this first go,” Dorian commented as he pushed some of the egg around again and took another small bite. Just thinking about it made some of that bravery melt away. In the face of sickness, Dorian wasn’t exactly the bravest sort. He hated being ill, and knowing he was putting himself in that situation almost made it worse. “And I promise not to tell anyone about you being so helpful,” he went on with a slight smile, “just in case you were worried about it.”

There was a brief pause as Dorian contemplated his breakfast and everything that went with it: the rest of today, the rest of the month, the rest of the next four months, and he felt heavy. He worried that whatever it was he wanted to do wasn’t going to get realized and he’d have been stuck for no reason. But that was no way to think about it. “If the writers and editors and all that still pull the usual shit with my footage,” he began before he looked back up at Cullen, “I want you to know that I did try. You know, to tell something real and that’s not trying to get a reaction. I can’t help what they do to it, but I’m really going to try. Fair?”

\----

“Fair,” Cullen agreed between bites. “Though, ah, it must be… frustrating to know that what you intended could be cut up and turned into something else.” It was odd, this talking and the small feeling of understanding and even sympathy for someone from the show. He'd never tried before, not with Solas and not even with Varric, not really. Of course, neither of them had left such an impression on him. And maybe Dorian was different. He seemed genuine now, honest, and that went a long way with Cullen. He was trying; even though this wasn't his first choice, he still wanted to do it his way.

His mouth lifted in a little half smile despite himself as he watched Dorian pick at his food. He was trying there, too, and Cullen felt better knowing the man would have a little something in him to carry him through the day.

“So,” Cullen continued, “Is there… is there anything you want to know that maybe we didn't cover yesterday? Might make your job easier?” That half smile became a bemused grin as he went on, “Need a refresher on the difference between port and starboard, for example?”

\----

“This is sort of the first time I’ve done anything that requires shooting footage to be cut into a storyline later, admittedly,” Dorian offered, “usually we get a set list of what we’re doing every day and know what it’s more or less going to turn into. This is a whole new thing for me, but... you know, good footage means good story. And I don’t mean instigating fights or trying to get people to complain so someone else can ‘accidentally’ overhear. That kind of shit is disgusting.”

Another two bites of eggs and that was about all his stomach could handle. Too much more and he’d be sick from that. “But, I suppose... you mentioned this circle and not being near the machinery, yes?” Dorian asked, “I’ve seen shots that are, say, on the other side of the launcher and that kind of thing. Would that be alright? Of course, getting out of the way when thing are moving and keeping wits about that kind of thing, but being sort of relegated to one place doesn’t make for very dynamic shooting.”

\----

A heavy sigh escaped scarred lips and Cullen winced a bit. He'd _hoped_ for questions about crabbing or the boat or even the crew, not more ‘so, how far in your way _can_ I get before you snap.’ Oh well, he should have expected it. He'd left that door wide open.

At least Dorian was asking, though, instead of just doing it. That was something.

“Look,” he started tone a little sterner, but not without patience… which was saying something, “At the end of the day, we've got a job to do, a damn dangerous one. It's hard enough keeping track of each other when the weather’s up, let alone someone trying to weave in and out with a camera.” He paused for a sip of coffee before going on. “I'm keeping to my request - when we're working, stay on the other side of the table or the launcher. If you saw anything closer in the show, it's because Solas was a damn sneaky bastard - but he got good. He learned our rhythm after a few seasons and started ducking in and out before I caught him. Doesn't mean he didn't hear about it later…”

Not that it mattered, of course. More often than not, the man would just sit there impassively and just take it with a nod… but keep on doing it, anyway. It made Cullen's blood boil - it was only a matter of time before there was a miscalculation and something happened. Sometimes, all it took was just one little slip, so Cullen didn't like to tempt fate. “... and I'm not trying to give you any ideas. Just… stay out while we're doing, and we'll be ok. Other times - between pots or while the guys are sorting… fine. Do what you have to. I said before, it's just… common sense, and it is.”

He stopped and took a long look at Dorian before his face softened, “I'm not trying to come down on you here… It's just… one mistake really can bring the whole thing down. And the bad stuff… it happens so fast you just can't react.” He was speaking from experience, though it was gained long before he set foot on The Herald. Long ago and far away, he'd watched everything burn because of one mistake.

\----

“I’ll take this first trip and get a read on rhythm, then,” Dorian agreed, “since I imagine I’ll be too sick to do much more than that. The stationary cameras will do a lot of the work for me.” He shrugged, “You do what you need to do, and I’ll not get in the way of it as best I can. So we’re clear. Alright?”

He put down his fork, tired of eating now and unable to stomach anymore of it, “You want people safe. I’m not so obsessed as to ignore that.” That softness in Cullen’s voice spoke volumes, anyway, and where before Dorian might have regarded it as scare tactics or some brutish need to be in control he could understand where concern really was. While he understood he was the low man on this particular ladder, he understood that the concern was for safety that included his own. That was noble. It was about a job and that job being as safe as possible. His artistic notions, which would probably press in on that a bit, could work around as necessary. Dorian was, as always, pretty flexible.

“Anyway,” he managed after a moment, “I think this is about all the food I can stomach for now.”

\----

“Alright,” Cullen agreed. The way this trip would go was still a mystery, but it did feel better to hear Dorian renew his promise to stay out of the way, and it seemed like the man understood his limitations… at least where the seasickness was concerned. “I don't know what they tell you - your bosses and such - but that sounds alright. Just… ease in, and you'll be ok. That's the feeling I get, anyway.”

Cullen looked down at his plate when Dorian announced that he was done. Somehow, it was almost empty - just a few strips of bacon left and he'd be done, too. Whatever it was Dorian ordered smelled pretty good, though, and it was a good long while yet until he'd get a break long enough to eat again once he started work. “At least you tried,” he offered with a shrug, “but, ah… it seems a waste. If you're not going to finish… can I?” Cullen grinned sheepishly over at Dorian, “I clearly gave up on my girlish figure a long time ago.”

\----

Well, that was a first. Dorian had never been asked to let someone finish his plate before. That said, there was still quite a bit and he couldn’t... just couldn’t. So saying, he nudged the plate forward and wrapped his hands around his coffee mug to warm them a bit more, “I’d say your girlish figure is in fine form,” he teased with a small smile, “all that lugging around giant metal boxes and everything must burn way more calories than going to the gym, after all.”

Grey eyes studied Cullen for a moment and he let his gaze drift down strong arms and broad shoulders. It wasn’t a good idea, but Dorian could only imagine what this man looked like without a shirt on and Maker, if his imagination wasn’t _very_ active. Not helpful, not at all, but he couldn’t help himself.

\----

_Fine form?_

Amber eyes widened and blinked in confusion and not a little surprise. _Me? Surely, he's just being polite._ It was hard to believe that little comment was anything else _-_ while he had, perhaps against better judgment, noticed a few of Dorian's finer points, Cullen was hard pressed to think that _he_ had any of his own… or that someone like Dorian would be looking, in any capacity.

That _what if_ was back, but this time it took on a different tone, shaded a slightly different color by that one little quip.

_It doesn't matter. All the what ifs in the world wouldn't justify that line of thought._

He laughed then, a nervous sort of thing and he cringed inwardly at the sound of it coming out of him. “H-hardly,” he replied and waved his hand, “The, ah, the years have caught up with me. But,” he cleared his throat and stared down at his cup of coffee, “ah… yeah. Thanks.”

_Nice. Now you look like a stuttering idiot._

\----

So the mean, gruff man could blush and stutter under the weight of a compliment. Interesting. Dorian would file that away for later. He just kept smiling though, and sipped slowly from his mug in the hope it would settle his stomach. Maker knew he would have loved to push those buttons a bit further, but they were technically at work and not the morning after a satisfying tryst. Pushing those buttons would only make things harder.

But he could think about it in the rare moments of peace, and that would have to be enough.

“You keep doing that and I’ll have to start asking if you’ve left some lucky woman on the dock like I’m supposed to,” he teased, then waved a hand, “but I won’t. What I will say, though, is that we should get back and do this interview so you can get some real work done. People are probably wondering where you are.”

Not that Dorian was in any hurry to go back considering the company, but... work. Sadly. Maybe on a break they could try this again. That would have been rather nice.

“We can put the masks back on while we walk back, hm?” Dorian asked,. “ you: the rough deck boss, and me: the artsy, naive camera man?”

\----

_It's not a mask - that's who I am. Right?_

Damn right. Or at least, that's who he wanted to be right now, who he _should_ be, but Dorian apparently had a way of disarming him like no one he'd ever met. As soon as Cullen decided where the line was, the line between deck boss and crew, Dorian had him scrambling to redraw it - and he'd only known the man for 24 hours. Work. Work would help. It had been a bad decision to leave for breakfast, especially in light of the short but open conversation they'd had last night.

Well, Cullen was aware of that effect now, and how thoroughly it had him off guard. He could defend against it. He'd done it in the past when others had expressed any amount of interest in him, shutting any… flirting down before it really started. _Maker, is that what that was, though? Flirting? No. No, that's probably just how he is._ Either way, it was an avenue Cullen couldn't go down - hadn't _wanted_ to go down in years, and even more important not to since this man was going out to sea with them. Personal attachment was difficult to manage in dangerous situations when calls had to be made for the greater good… attachments on _that_ level? Impossible.

Maybe he was making a bigger deal of it than it was - Dorian may just be a consummate flirt - but Cullen had felt the warmth in his face today and that bizarre thumping in his chest last night. Rusty and neglected as that part of him might be, he knew it for what it was - interest - and he couldn't ignore it now. Action, _swift_ action, had to be taken to make sure nothing came of it, even if it was one-sided. In fact, first things first, the man couldn’t be _Dorian_ any more, he had to be _Pavus_ again. That would help keep the line clear and uncrossed… and when had he shifted to _Dorian_ , anyway? No matter, referring to the man by last name would make it easier for Cullen create the space he needed to do his job.

Cullen finished his breakfast as he regrouped and began work to redraw that line, intent on fortifying it this time, now that he knew the appropriate defenses. He did pay for both of them - he could hardly expect Pavus to pay for a few bites of a plate Cullen had finished - and they started back to the boat. Each step he took towards The Herald made him feel more settled in his resolution, made that line more clear, more solid.

_No room for distraction. No room for whatever that was. I have a job to do._

By the time his foot hit the deck, he was himself again - the deck boss of The Herald, not some stuttering idiot, blushing at the slightest amount of attention from an attractive man. He could do this. He was comfortable. He was in _control_.

Of course, he'd forgotten his own words from the day before. Comfort… control… those were only illusions.


	6. Casting Off [1 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald is given clearance to leave port and begin a new season. Dorian begins his work in earnest, and Cullen tries to create distance between himself and the camera man who has him so off balance.

Back on the boat from breakfast, they opted to do the interview near the rail by the hydraulics. That was where Cullen spent most of his time, after all, and one of the few chances Pavus would have to film him there. Cullen’s replies were made with the same level of alacrity as every year, which was to say not much. The personal questions were waved off entirely, but the questions about expectations for the season, the boat, and the crew were answered candidly enough, though all in clipped phrases that were quite different from the tone he'd been using all morning. Part of that was because he was back on the boat and shifting into work mode, but most of it was due to Cullen’s decision - he’d decided that the best course of action was to establish some form of… professional distance with the new cameraman.

He’d be damned if some ridiculous fluttering in his chest was going to distract him from his work, not when there was so much at stake.

For his part, if Pavus noticed or was surprised at the shift in tone, Cullen couldn’t tell. His plan was to be as cordial as he could, considering the environment, and make sure the man didn’t end up hurt or in their way. Cullen would watch him, of course, to make sure he could handle the sea, and he’d still give him until that first offload to really make up his mind about how fit for the sea the man really was. But other than that - the deck boss could afford no more little thumps in his chest or glances from those grey eyes that were far too appreciative. In a perfect world, maybe, but on a crab boat? No.

As the interview wrapped up, the rest of the crew, including Varric and Trev, approached from the docks in a large group. Apparently, they’d all decided to go get coffee and breakfast together that morning… which, of course, meant that they likely noted the absence of their deck boss and newest camera guy when they rounded everyone up to go. _Great._

“I think it’s about time to get busy,” Cullen said, nodding to the group coming on board, “Are there many more questions?” His tone was even and polite even if his words were clipped. There was much to be done in only a day, and he aimed to get started as soon as the crew was up and able.

Work, at least, would take his mind off of… it would keep his mind from wandering.

\----

He’d been only mostly joking about those masks. Of course Dorian expected Cullen to be different on the boat, in front of the camera, but the switch that seemed to flick the minute he set foot on deck was almost brilliant. Gone was the man who’d been blushing at him and stammering a little, and now stood a curt and clipped, though hardworking and concerned, type who only wanted to see the job and season done to the best of everyone’s ability. The smiles were mostly gone, too, which was definitely a shame. That smile lit up Cullen’s face something beautiful, so to see him back to the grim and gruff thing was a bit sad.

As everyone else filed back on, Dorian pulled the camera away from him shoulder and grinned, “Morning, guys,” he offered, and got a pat on the shoulder from Varric as he headed inside, “Ah, you’re good,” he told Cullen with that same smile. Out on deck, it seemed the nausea wasn’t so bad. The fresh air sort of helped where the stale smoke and scent of engine in the actual rooms and everything kind of made Dorian feel worse. This? This was alright, and he was managing relatively well. Better than last night, anyway. “Feel free to do what you need to do,” Dorian went on, “but thanks for, you know, letting me get this out of the way.”

“You two playing nice?” Trev asked as he came to a stop beside them, “no hair pulling or anything?”

Dorian hefted his camera back on his shoulder and turned to study the captain for a long moment, “we may have come to an understanding. Mostly.”

One ginger eyebrow cocked and Trev looked over at Cullen, “Is that so?”

\----

“Yeah, for the most part,” Cullen answered as he lit a cigarette. “Just getting that first interview out of the way so we can get the rest of these pots stacked.” He took a long draw and exhaled slowly as amber eyes cut first from Pavus then back to Trev. “And, ah… can you add some ginger and peppermint to the shopping list? Oh, and crackers and soup. That kind of thing.” Even though he was rebuilding the space he shouldn't have lost in the first place, it really wouldn't do to have a stumbling, vomiting mess wandering his deck. It wasn’t pretty - to look at or to clean. That's all it was, really.

“Oh, does someone have a bellyache,” Samson drawled as he walked up, smirk already plastered across his face.

“Yeah, you if you don't get your ass to work. Let's go.” Cullen replied with some heat, though it was really for show - his face wore the ghost of a grin. It was early yet for the real fireworks, and all he'd wanted to do was keep the dogs off the seasick cameraman for as long as he could. “I'm sure there's something needs fixing around here.”

\----

“Actually, since you’re closest,” Dorian prompted Samson, “you can be next. Thank you for volunteering.” He gestured to his camera, “where should I follow you?” The engineer was just on the other side of lewd, as opposed to Cullen who was just short replies and gruff manner, and Dorian had a feeling this would be objectively more fun. He grinned over at Trev and Cullen as he followed Samson, headed into the ship and presumably down below.

Trev turned back to Cullen then, “So…” he began as he tipped his head to the side, “ready to get this going? Season opens in twelve hours and I’d like to be ready to cast off ASAP.”

\----

Amber eyes tracked Samson and Pavus until they disappeared down the stairs. Something felt off - he was… unsettled, and that only served to annoy him. Maybe it was just that Samson had opted out that morning, leaving Cullen alone. Maybe it was that he was now slacking off for at least another half hour. Whatever it was, it wasn't because he regretted his earlier decision regarding their new cameraman. It had nothing to do with that at all.

With another draw from his cigarette and shake of his head, Cullen turned his attention back to Trev. “I'm sorry, what?” He asked before he realized what he'd been asked. “Oh, yeah. Just gotta finish this stack and get the rest of the bait onboard. Well, and our food. _Someone_ seems to always wait until the last minute for that every year.” A low chuckle escaped scarred lips before he continued, “But yeah. We'll be ready. _I'm_ ready, anyway.”

\----

“Distracted?” Trev asked with a raised eyebrow, “and since when do you sneak off for breakfast without us?” He was grinning now, “you two decide to kiss and make up?”

Just then, Alistair made his way over to Cullen and bit a little at his lip, “Um, think you can show me where the bait hooks are?” he asked, “Barris told me they need to go in the tub at the station and I can’t find them.”

Trev chuckled then, “Yeah, alright, go do work. We’ll talk about human resources later. When you guys get the last of it all stacked come in and I’ll send somebody out for supplies and we can do last checks. Good?”

\----

It was foolish, but there had been the hope that maybe no one would comment on Cullen’s absence this morning. Apparently not, and he felt his face sour as he shot Trev a look that could only be described as a glare. Alistair approached just as he opened his mouth and took a breath to respond, though, so thank the Maker for small miracles. After another withering look for the captain, Cullen turned his attention to the greenhorn.

“Sure, kid, let’s go. And I’m gonna show you a few things about the last couple of pots you secured last night before we get going on that today…”

So he spent the rest of the morning devoted to _work_ , first showing Alistair the things he needed to know, and then standing stooped over at the hydro controls as they resumed the work they’d started last night. Samson was below, presumably running the engine through its paces one last time before they shipped out later, so it was Barris, Blackwall and Alistair crawling over the ever-growing stack of pots to make sure they were all inspected, fixed if necessary, and secured properly. It took a little while for Alistair to fall into their system confidently, but they eventually picked up a good pace.

Well, until the crew interviews started, anyway. All three of them apparently _had_ to be interviewed that morning before the pots were stacked. It wasn’t a new problem - this sort of thing happened every year - but that didn’t mean it didn’t get under Cullen’s skin. It seemed like each time one of the guys stood idle, waiting on the man before to finish his work, that head of fluffy black hair would pop up out of nowhere, and then they’d _all_ be idle for a while. At least Pavus waited until there was a break in the work to pull them, but it still tacked on time. Admittedly, not a _lot_ of time, but more time, nonetheless, and it left Cullen sighing and scowling each time it happened.

They finished stacking all 250 pots, finally, well after lunch time. Everyone’s stomachs were grumbling, so Cullen called it and told everyone to be back in an hour to get the rest of the work done before Trev inevitably sent most or all of them to get supplies. They’d all wanted to go somewhere together, but Cullen begged off. He’d tried to lose himself in his work earlier, had almost succeeded, and then there was Pavus on his deck, filming and interviewing the crew. The harder Cullen tried to ignore him, the more his eye was drawn to him. It was all very… frustrating. Frustrating and it set the deck boss’ teeth on edge to the point where he’d felt himself getting shorter with the men for no reason. So, when lunch finally came around, he just very much wanted to spend an hour alone to sort himself out.

\----

First real day. First real day doing the first real things and learning his way through all this. Cullen had been right about breakfast sort of helping, and while in the moments between he did feel more than a bit sick, the times when he was actually working kept his mind off of it. Talking to people helped, and Dorian found in these little interviews that most of the rest of the crew were pretty agreeable to talking to him. They were all a bit different: Samson was a little lewd but generally nice, Barris was quiet and more observant, Blackwall was about as gruff as Cullen but maybe a bit less serious, and Alistair was... well, he was young. He was young and happy, but nervous to be there, and Dorian liked him immediately. They chatted for probably a little longer than they should have, but with the promise to talk again when there was time. It helped. Everything from the breakfast that morning to the talk now helped.

Then came... well, the rest of it, and whenever he was out on deck Dorian could all but feel two holes being pierced into the back of his neck. He knew where it was coming from, too. There was only one place, or person, that would cause it. Now, he had to wonder just what he’d done wrong to make Cullen glare at him like that. He was being respectful of what the others were doing, didn’t interrupt, didn’t fuck around. Anything like that? So _why_ was the man looking at him like that? It was concerning. Certainly their little meal together had been nice, right? Dorian hadn’t said anything terribly untoward. So why now? Unless all of that was an act or something. Maker help all of them if it was.

Then, lunch and a few hours to get the rest of his kit sorted out. Interviews were done, which was his only thing on the agenda for the day, and by the time everyone got back from that last meal at the pub Dorian was about ready to slap a few of those seasickness patches on himself, take a few pain relievers, and sleep until they got wherever they were going. Except he couldn’t, and that would have been a terrible idea. He had cameras and memory cards to sort out, day plans to map, and maybe even a few more establishing shots. That, however, wasn’t so bad. Being out on deck was better. Being up where the air was clear made him feel a lot less bad, and while lunch for Dorian had consisted of half a ham sandwich with a bag of chips that he’d only nibbled at... he did feel better.

Now to get Cullen to stop glaring at him. But he had the rest of the day, which didn’t require him stealing the other crew members, and then they’d be off. It was... it was happening. Everything was happening. Less than a day now, and they’d be off. Dorian was nervous, but he was trying not to show it. Instead, he just hauled his camera back up the stairs to the deck and chose his moments to scout angles when no one was doing something nearby. He had some plans for some interesting things, and hopefully they’d work out.

Then the last food run, which everyone seemed to want to go on. Dorian had tossed in what money he could and added a few things to the list, but had no desire to go with them. That was apparently the last piece of the puzzle and as he watched Alistair, Barris, and Blackwall head off in a truck he couldn’t help but shake his head. This was going to be interesting. maker only knew what they’d probably come back with.

\----

Cullen stood, one hip leaning against the rails next to the launcher as he raised a hand in farewell to the three deckhands charged with the food run. Samson was absent since he still had to make sure the bailer pumps were up and running, which meant that maybe this year they'd be in and out without an incident. _Wouldn't that be nice?_

Now that most of the crew was off and doing, Cullen was at a bit of a loss. They were, surprisingly, ahead of schedule and pretty much ready to go. The equipment had all been inspected and repaired, the bait was loaded, and the bait station had been set up earlier by Alistair under Cullen's watchful eye. The kid did good when he got comfortable, though he was easily flustered. After they'd finished, Alistair had gone for his interview, which Cullen noticed had taken quite a bit longer than everyone else's… probably owing to the fact that Theirin was new and no one knew a damn thing about him. Though there had been that _handsome_ comment from yesterday, and the joke that he'd get extra screentime and…

_It doesn't matter._

They could focus on the kid all they wanted, as long as it didn't get in the way or cause him to make mistakes because he was feeling the pressure of the cameras. In a way, it was good - the less focus on Cullen the better. And for all his flustered jokes and smiles, Theirin had an easy way about him, one that allowed him to make friends quickly. Of course, the show would be drawn to that.

He lit a cigarette as the day shifted into late afternoon. Cullen had never really been easygoing, had never made friends easily. What few he had, he suspected, put up with him rather than sought him out. It all tied in very nicely with the stoic alpha wolf image the show had going for him. He sighed heavily. _I need to find something to do_.

Idle hands were Cullen's enemy. They made him antsy and gave his mind time to wander. At this particular moment, he'd rather it not, as it seemed to be fixating on… things it shouldn't. _Maybe Sam needs some help,_ he thought as he put out his cigarette and started to move belowdecks to seek out his engineer.

\----

And, of course, on the way up there was someone coming back down. Small space, lots of chances to run into people. Dorian blinked as he was suddenly chest to chest with Cullen. Cullen, who had been glaring at him all day. Again. “Oh,” he managed after a moment, then let out a soft laugh, “small boat, isn’t it?” Not really, but it felt that way here and there. Dorian offered a smile and took a few steps backward as he shouldered his camera, “not going to look longingly at town from the railing?” he teased, “here I was planning to get a bit of that.”

\----

Typical. The boat was too damn small, but did it have to serve up the very thing - person - Cullen was trying to not think about? Well, he'd have to get used to it, and he was sure he would. Just as soon as he managed to forget those little what ifs from this morning, he'd be right as rain.

One eyebrow arched at the cameraman’s comment. _Longingly? Ha._ “No,” he responded simply. “We'll be back in two weeks, anyway.” Amber eyes looked for a way around the man, but that was a fruitless task. They'd have to do a bit of shuffling sideways, closer than they were now, and that was… he was already too close. As it was, Cullen could tell that those grey eyes were actually a mix of lighter and darker shades, from bright silver to almost black at the rims and they were altogether too… he tried not to finish that thought, but he may as well have been trying to stop a train… _captivating_.

Frustrating. It was too frustrating, to not have a lid snapped neatly on this yet, and Cullen cut his eyes over the man's shoulder and frowned. Unwilling to move closer to get by or give up ground and move back, he just stood there. “Besides, I thought you considered the town… what was it… _dodgy as fuck_?”

\----

The inside of the boat was considerably warmer than the outside, but this close proximity made Dorian warmer. He had to wonder if Cullen was the one putting off all that heat, or if perhaps it wasn’t his own imagination. Those minutes on deck teamed with the bit of a chat that morning had made a few rather _distracting_ thoughts come up, usually when one of the other guys mentioned the golden haired Fereldan’s name, and he’d had to shake several mental images of what it might be like to be pressed up against that strong chest with all that warmth wrapped around him.

It had been a while since Dorian had been with someone, and he was starting to realize that he’d basically signed up for a several-months long bout of celibacy. The more he was aware of it, the worse it was. Being essentially trapped with a boat full of rather attractive men really didn’t help either.

“Oh, it is,” he agreed with an easy smile, “but you probably have a far better chance of not being mugged than I do.” Dorian cast a pointed glance to Cullen’s rather muscular arms, “most everyone probably knows who not to fuck with, am I right?”

This very close moment had his blood pumping, and now that they were closer than they’d been even out at breakfast that morning, Dorian couldn’t help the way he almost slotted in so easily at Cullen’s chest. That was a dangerous way to think, and he pushed it forcibly to the back of his mind as he reached out a hand to rest on Cullen’s arm so he could step past him. That heat under his palm seemed to arc all the way up, too, and he stared down at it for a long moment, “I’ll let you get back to it,” Dorian offered. His voice was quieter, a bit thicker than it had been a moment ago for how suddenly breathless he felt, and pulled his hand away so he could grab the door and step outside.

\----

Well, wasn't _that_ nice? Just because this wasn't some posh city, the man assumed the townsfolk were all shady? Cullen's hackles raised a bit - _he'd_ come from a town much like this one, though far smaller. These were all reasonably good people, hardworking and maybe simple comparatively, but all salt-of-the-earth types and not in it to steal. The words _No one's gonna fucking mug you_ were on his lips, but they died as Cullen felt a warmth on his shoulder and looked to see one bronze hand resting there. That simple touch sent a jolt through him and set things to stirring in his chest that had _no business_ stirring.

Slack jawed and mind blank, his eyes darted to Pavus’ face, and Cullen was shocked again to see that the man was… staring. Just staring at his own hand on Cullen's shoulder with a face that said maybe he was as surprised as Cullen was. For a moment, the deck boss wondered what was going on in that mind before biting that off. _It. Doesn't. Matter._

And then the moment was broken and that hand was gone and the cameraman was speaking again. Cullen didn't really hear what he said, all he knew was that he desperately needed to get out of that cramped stairwell and find some space away. Away from lovely eyes and closeness and the feeling that maybe he didn't have control at all. He brushed roughly past the man, jaw set and trying not to notice the way their shoulders touched as he moved past.

Further into the boat, Cullen found Samson with the pumps, cursing a blue streak at the one that'd given them so much trouble last year.

“They were supposed to fucking fix this shit,” Sam started when he saw Cullen, but raised an eyebrow when he saw the man's face. “Someone kick your puppy, Rutherford?”

“What? I don't have a dog,” Cullen responded absently.

“Figure of speech,” Samson replied drily as he turned back to his work, “You look pissed. Don't bring that shit down here.”

“Ah, no,” Cullen returned, relaxing his face as best he could, “Came to see if you needed a hand.”

“That I most certainly fucking do,” Samson answered gratefully.

Cullen bent down to see how he could help. He spent the rest of the afternoon with Samson in the belly of the boat. Not a place he'd normally put himself - it was far too closed in down there in the engine room - but it seemed that it was the best place to avoid distraction. Once he threw himself into the work, though, he felt better. Much better.

At least until he remembered that touch; then his skin burned where that hand had rested and his face clouded and Samson had to snap him out of it like he was a kid in school daydreaming.

\----

When he got outside, Dorian had to flex his hand a few times to rid it of the imagined warmth that felt almost like a glove. It had spread nearly up his entire arm and for a moment his head felt like it was being wrapped with warm, soft cotton. He entertained the thought for a moment: allowed sixty seconds of picturing soft, warm, pale skin pressed against his own bronze and let himself get a little lost in it. Maker, maybe he really should have hooked up with someone before he’d come up here. Not that it would have helped much, but thinking about those thick, strong hands and fingers running over his very _sensitive_ places wasn’t going to be terribly helpful when he was stuck with six other men in very close quarters.

“Easy,” he breathed to himself as he sucked in cold air and hoped it would cool his blood.

It didn’t.

So when the others got back, bags and boxes and more bags and boxes of food and supplies in tow, Dorian threw himself into helping get everything on board and put away. He’d needed it. He’d needed it because sixty seconds turned into twenty minutes and he’d seriously considered running back to his very small bunk while everyone was away. Dorian knew he couldn’t be thinking like that, and when they were down in the galley and both Cullen and Samson appeared from where they’d been doing whatever it was they’d been doing, Dorian couldn’t help the way his face heated like they’d somehow know what he’d been thinking about.

“Right, guys,” Trev announced as he flicked on the radio and looked down at his watch, “we can deal with putting the rest of that away in a bit. Quiet time now.”

Dorian didn’t quite know what was going on, but he slowed where he was putting a few cans in one of the lower cabinets and leaned his hip against the counter as everyone took their seats around the small table and someone began speaking over the radio. Port authority, maybe? No. Well, sort of, and what sounded like the chaplain of the small Chantry in town

\----

By the time the pumps were sorted, Samson and Cullen were coated in grime and sweat and stripped down to their undershirts, but they'd made it _in time._ As Cullen entered the tiny galley, he nodded a greeting to Trev and made his way to the little sink, pushing past the man he'd been mostly successful in not thinking about without making eye contact, to try and get some of the engine grease off his hands. It was a losing battle, but he managed to get the worst of it off his hands and forearms. The voices from the radio were just winding up - he had a little time, so he splashed his face and ran a hand through curls mussed with sweat. He'd at least make an effort to look decent during this.

The blessing of the fleet. It was a tradition that went back ages, and as far as Cullen was concerned, was one of the most important tasks that had to be completed before they could cast off. It was just _known_ that bad luck followed those who missed it or didn't respect it. Even the rowdy bunch on The Kaaras had a moment of silence for the blessing, despite their captain not being Andrastean. Apparently, the big qunari took that time to mutter his own words of prayer.

Either way, if the traditional blessing worked or you said your own, it was a sacred time. One of the few amongst the crabbers setting off into the Frozen Seas.

“... and now, the blessing of the fleet. Mother, if you would…”

The chantry mother spoke the words Cullen knew by heart now as a reverent silence fell over the crew and eyes closed.

“Most gracious Maker, we pray you to consecrate this fleet to righteous work in your name. Guide the captains at the helms. So prosper their voyages that an honest living may be made. Watch over their passengers and crew and bring them to a safe return. And the blessing of the Maker and our fair and just Andraste be upon this fleet and all who go aboard, this day and forever. In your name we pray.”

“In your name,” Cullen murmured softly as the prayer concluded.

\----

Varric had been the one to film this bit, and Dorian made sure he was out of the shot as he watched the faces of the crew. They were all somber, listening and having their own moments, and for just a second Dorian wished he could have had that more intense connection with his Maker. In moments like these, despite the Chantry Mother saying all the right words, his heart didn’t quiet itself in that calm sense of protection and love. If anything, it only served to remind him that he was very much on his own.

One hand raked through Dorian’s now rather messy hair, and he folded his arms across his chest. This certainly made that warm feeling melt away, and he turned and moved out of the kitchen. It seemed almost wrong to be standing there and feeling this way while the others seemed so reverent. It reminded him of too many Chantry services with his parents on the grounds of being seen, and while Dorian _did_ believe, he wasn’t as terribly enamoured with the Maker and Andraste as those in the South seemed to be. He’d made his peace with them a while ago, and while he prayed when it felt right, this seemed a bit like heresy to stand and ask for protection when he couldn’t muster the same sort of love he expected in return.

So he stood in the small hallway, chewing on a thumb nail, and contemplated everything from when he’d signed his contract to now. Maybe this whole thing was a blessing in disguise: something he needed to do, but it felt a bit wrong to ask for more protection that he’d done before stepping out of his rented room the morning before. Hopefully, he fell under that ‘and those who go aboard’ and that he might be looked after, but considering everything he wasn’t terribly positive.

Ports in storms was something he was used to, but it wasn’t quite the right metaphor for the moment.

\----

Cullen was aware of movement to his side and he frowned as he realized Pavus had left the kitchen before the blessing was complete. _Bad luck,_ he thought, and hoped that they'd slip by on the technicality that the man wasn't part of the crew proper. Still, he'd be on the boat with them, and out of all of the men on board, the new cameraman probably needed good luck the most to survive his first trip out. Cullen rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, head moving side to side in agitation. What business was it of his whether the man had good luck or not? But he'd be lying if he said it didn't bother him.

The next part of the blessing, and Cullen's favorite, was coming up - the traditional hymn. This year, they introduced one of the students from the local high school to sing it - a great honor for those who were so inclined - but it usually didn't matter who did it for the men of The Herald. Each year since Cullen joined, it was his voice they heard, and his voice they joined in song. Well, most of them sang along… Samson even managed a hum by the end… but Cullen's was the strongest voice. It was one of the few times he did anything that would make him stand out, and probably the reason why people who watched the show liked him despite his gruff persona. Still, the music moved him and the words _meant_ something, so he didn't mind this one hint at his… softer side, he supposed.

He couldn't help himself anyway. The few years he'd tried to remain silent had been failures - he was always singing by the end, so he stopped trying. This year was no different. As those first notes rang out, he felt a few pairs of eyes fall expectantly on him and he took a deep breath.

 _Eternal Maker, strong to save,_  
_Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,_  
_Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep_  
_Its own appointed limits keep;_  
_Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,_  
_For those in peril on the sea!_  

This was the real prayer. The actual blessing to Cullen. The words before were always said, traditional and holy in their own right, but nothing moved him so much as music. Where the Mother's prayer was certainly respected and heartfelt, this was more sincere, more personal for Cullen and many of the men. It spoke of an angry sea and the call for protection - Cullen's purpose and fears and needs all rolled into one song.

 _O Andraste with love and power!_  
_Our brethren shield in danger's hour;_  
_From rock and tempest, fire and foe,_  
_Protect them wheresoe'er they go;_  
_Thus evermore shall rise to Thee_  
_Glad hymns of praise from land and sea._  

The final melodies died, and there was that one magical moment of silence as everyone added their own prayers to that call. _Bring them home,_ was Cullen's thought, as it was every year, before Blackwall grinned and said “Let's go crabbin’!” and everyone cheered their agreement. Even Cullen cracked a smile.

_It’s finally time._

\----

Well, this was all terribly... probably nice, but Dorian just pinched the bridge of his nose from where he leaned against the wall. He knew people who were far more devout that he’d probably ever be, and had no issues with it, but things like this made something cold flare out in his stomach. It really was far too much like being stuffed into pews and being sent to confessions as a child and later having members of the Chantry brought over to discuss his ‘issues.’ Halward had been a childhood friend of the Archon and had all but asked for an audience with the Divine so that they might ‘right the wrong’ in Dorian. It had been absurd, and this... it struck too many nerves that were still a bit too raw to deal with. He wasn’t there for absolution. He was there to do a job. That was the end of it.

At the sound of cheering back in the galley, Dorian stepped back in and offered a slightly dimmer smile to usual. Apparently, they’d cast off soon so they could already be in the way when the season properly opened in the morning. That was fine. He was ready to actually start all this because the anticipation and time to possibly reconsider was starting to get to him. Too many distractions in less than a day were bad enough. Once they were going, it would be fine. It would have to be.

“I’ll call up and let them know we’re headed out,” Trev told them, “Cullen, you take Barris and Alistair and get everything untied and last checks, yeah?”

And now they were really going. In the middle of putting all the groceries away, they were going. At least Dorian would have something to do, though he wondered if it might be good to put on one of those seasick things before they even left. Probably. Better to be smart than sick, after all.

\----

“Divide and conquer,” Cullen grinned at Barris and Alistair. He couldn't help the smile on his face - after the long days prepping, it was finally time to get down to it. Sam was already reporting in to the captain that the engines and pumps were up and the fuel topped off. Trev would be waiting now only on clearance from the port and Cullen's all clear from the deck. “Alistair, you're with me. We'll double check the pots and mechanics. Barris, you're everything else - equipment and bait and such. We'll circle back up after to let Trev know everything's good.”

He'd noticed that Pavus hadn't actually left during the blessing; the man had just ducked into the hallway. Of course Cullen had noticed - if the past two days had told him anything, it was that he was acutely aware of where the man was and what he was doing when he was near. It was maddening, the insistent little spot in his mind that flared up and demanded attention when the cameraman was around. It was an itch he couldn't scratch.

_It's only been two days. It'll even out. He just surprised you, is all._

The man looked positively shaken, Cullen noticed as he turned to leave with Barris and Alistair in tow. Pavus was clearly trying to hide it, but there was some of that same panic Cullen had seen in his eyes yesterday when he was struggling with the survival suit. Maybe it was really sinking in - what he'd signed on the dotted line for when he took the job. A moment of concern made Cullen hesitate, and his steps slowed as he came even with the man. That line was still there in Cullen's head, of course, but so was that desire to see if Pavus would rise to the challenge posed by the Frozen Seas. Something told Cullen an encouraging word right now might help if the man was regretting his choice or feeling the fear.

If… if it had been anyone else, the greenhorn for example, Cullen would have taken him to the side to see if the panic was nerves or something deeper that would be a real problem. He’d have done his best to calm those nerves, in his own gruff way, and kept watch afterwards. It _wasn’t_ any other person, though - it was the one person he’d decided he _couldn’t_ trust himself with. As he came even with Pavus, the words ‘you’ll be ok’ were on his tongue, but he caught himself before they were uttered. He _wanted_ to help, in whatever small way he could, but that want didn't stem from professional concern. It wasn't the fact that the cameraman was on his boat or out of a sense of obligation. He wanted to help just because the man’s smile had made Cullen's thoughts race and his heart pound in a way he hadn’t felt in years. He wanted to help because it made him… sad to see fear playing at the man's bright eyes.

And that’s why he couldn’t help, not in this capacity, anyway - not with something that could lead to deeper conversation and getting to know one another and more racing thoughts and pounding in his chest. So, Cullen picked up the pace and clenched his fist and bit back the wave of guilty sadness that surged up in his throat.

Back up on deck, the three men went about their business, inspecting and checking off. Cullen was actually pleased that he had to take Alistair to task a bit for the last few pots he'd secured. It helped take his mind off the fact that he’d noticed something was wrong, but just kept on walking. But that was the right call. He couldn’t be distracted. Lives were at stake - he couldn’t cross that line and risk being blinded by familiarity or some stupid… _crush_ or whatever the fuck this was. It was the right call.

Right?

“And here's where you started thinking about the shopping trip maybe more than you should have,” Cullen pointed out, gesturing to one of the lines that secured a pot to the stack.

“What?” Alistair asked, wide-eyed.

“Your knot work’s sloppy starting with this one. Distraction is a dangerous thing. What if the boat rolled and these came loose? We'd either lose them to the sea or they'd end up on deck… and they don't care what they crush - the deck floor or a deck hand, it's all the same to them.” Cullen spent some time then showing Theirin the proper knot and then watching the greenhorn fix the ones he'd pointed out. He was in his element, and, thankfully, that odd swirl of conflicting emotions that surrounded the new cameraman was forgotten. For the moment.

\----

As everyone seemed to go off in their necessary directions, Dorian sighed and set to finishing the last of the groceries so that everything would at least be put away. He and Varric had no real part in the cast off, since the stationary cameras would see more to that with better vantage points, and he just... wanted some quiet. That brief moment, the one where Cullen had stopped to look at him as he and Barris and Alistair had gone one deck, was... weird. For the moment, Dorian didn’t want to try to parse that look. Maybe the man was angry he’d ducked out on the little prayer and song, maybe it was seen as rude, but it would have been more rude to stand there and make a sour face. He’d learned that at a young age. But there was something else there, too. Cullen had looked almost stricken, like he couldn’t quite decide how to make his face look, and it was strange. Weird. The man seemed so ill at ease when he wasn’t working, and while Dorian understood that to a point he wasn’t so sure how that was going to work with them in this small a space.

“You alright, kid?”

Varric. Of course Varric.

“Fine,” he answered over his shoulder a he closed over the cabinet that seemed to hold all the various spices and six bottles of different hot sauces, “just fine.”

“Sure?”

“As sure as I ever am,” Dorian replied and spun around to lean back against the counter, “besides, now the fun really begins. Right?”

Varric chuckled, “You have no idea,” and waved a hand, “they’ll be a bit. I say now’s a good time to put on one of your little medicine things. You don’t want to be sick the whole trip out.”

He wasn’t wrong. Already the bit of nerves and startup of the engines made him feel a little ill, so Dorian headed for their little room so he could dig through his bags. It seemed like he was going to be forever digging through stuff in this tiny room. It was a strange thing to sort of focus on, but it at least gave him some clarity where the nausea was starting to crest.

\----

The wheelhouse was alive with radio chatter, nav screens, tracking devices and a whole slew of the things Trev needed to plan strategy and keep track of this whole organization. The air was thick with cigarette smoke already - just as Cullen had been busy all day with deck preparations, Trev had been hard at work planning out the season. Cullen entered and walked up the few steps to the captain’s area to find the man still poring over maps and records of past seasons. They both knew how important it was that this be a banner year for The Herald - costly repairs had left them farther in the red than they'd ever been, and if they didn't reach their quota, it could very well be the last year for all of them. At least on this boat, but Cullen didn't want to work for another captain. He couldn't imagine it. In his heart, he knew if The Herald folded… well, he'd be done, too.

“How's it looking?” Cullen asked as he walked up next to Trev. The captain tipped a long bit of ash into an ashtray and shot Cullen a look. He knew damn good and well how it looked. It looked like a lot of nothing before they splashed their first pots and tested the waters.

“I'm thinking we'll start back over here, just to see,” Trev answered, pointing to an area of the sea that had provided for them two years back. “Run a few test strings to feel it out. You know the drill. How's things on deck?”

“Ready to go, actually.... whenever you are,” Cullen replied.

“And… the crew?” Trev asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Ready, too. Alistair’s gonna sink or swim… but I rather think he'll swim. He's eager enough. That first tough night’ll be telling.”

“It always is,” Trev sighed. “And, uh, have you made nice with our newest cameraman, then? You said an understanding was reached?”

“ _He_ said that, but… yes. We'll stay out of each other's way, or so he's promised. Time will tell,” Cullen answered and pursed his lips, eyes askance. Everything was all twisted in Cullen's mind where Pavus was concerned - there was his duty as deck boss to keep him safe, the curiosity around how the man would do on the open water, the worry over that seasickness and shade of panic, the annoyance over how Cullen's eyes sought him out, the strange rhythm in Cullen's chest when he was near… it all just meshed together and became a mess when he thought about it. He'd only known the man for _two days_. Distance. Distance was needed so he could do his job. That _line._

Trev’s piercing green eyes studied Cullen's face for a good long minute before he opened his mouth to speak. Just then, the announcement was made - _Port authority to The Herald. You are clear to depart. Repeat, you are clear to depart._

A broad grin broke out on both men's faces as Trev laughed, “Well, what the fuck are we waiting for?” before he reached to turn the engines over. “Go let ‘em know - it's time.”

Cullen nodded and headed belowdecks where everyone tended to gather. That humming beneath his feet lifted his heart and only made that smile wider. His eyes twinkled as he entered the galley.

“Alright boys, we're off,” he announced. The galley was a sudden flurry of activity as most everyone took off to pull lines and just be on deck while The Herald casted off for the first time that season. Cullen lagged behind, though, content to feel the engine vibrating up through his feet for a bit. In all the places he'd found himself in the past 8 years, nothing felt so much like home as this boat.

\----

The feeling of the engine roaring to life, in a way that was unlike how it had been when Samson had been running the checks on it, made that bit of nausea pitch and roll with the boat already. Dorian squinted down at the instruction on the box of patches, sighed, then just ripped it open to stick it on his arm. He’d figure it out. Now, maybe, some water or something to settle his stomach. If he kept busy it might not be so bad.

So he made his way to the galley, shifting a little as the boat lurched, and as he took a few steps forward he was very suddenly aware of just _what_ he was doing. Keenly. It was alight in every nerve in his body, and he actually almost plowed face first into Cullen because he wasn’t paying attention. “Shit!” he hissed, and reached a hand out against Cullen’s shoulder like he’d done before to steady himself, “I figured you’d be outside being all... sailor-y.” Grey eyes lifted to search Cullen’s face, and where he’d been expecting to see either that disapproving frown or that weird ‘I don’t know what to do with my face’ expression there was a... smile? A real smile. It was practically a grin.

It did suit him to the ground. It really did.

“Well, look at you,” he teased, “in your shirtsleeves and grinning.”

\----

“Whoa there on your land legs,” Cullen laughed and grabbed the man's shoulders to help right him and keep him from stumbling further. He'd reacted without thinking - for all the confusion and resolution to create distance, his first instinct was to tease back and help, not to withdraw. What did that say?

Amber eyes looked into grey for a long moment as Cullen's mind engaged again and that smile slid into something more serious. They were close, almost chest to chest in that small galley, and he was suddenly aware of too many things all at once. The warmth under his hands, the crinkles at the corners of the man's eyes, and Maker, Cullen could smell whatever soap or cologne the man wore - something he couldn't place but resonated with him all the same. _Too close. Far too close._

His chest thumped, and he raised his hands as he backed away slowly, jaw working and eyes cast to the side. A heat was on his face, and not for the first time in his life, he cursed his pale complexion for giving him away so completely and so often. He cleared his throat. _Distance._

“You're set to rights now,” he started again, face tense, “You should go up. Last chance for, ah, longing looks, I guess. I'm just… I'm gonna change and be up myself.” He looked down at himself and gestured to his shirt. “Get out of this engine grease, anyway.”

\----

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dorian managed after a moment. Why was it whenever he touched this man that he could feel it long after they’d parted? How could body heat transfer like that? That _never_ happened. And if it did, he never noticed like he did now. “The whole... shirtsleeves and grungy thing works for you,” he went on as he gestured with his still entirely too warm hand, “I’m sure the, uh... lady audience wouldn’t mind so much.”

Though on deck they mostly wore their rain gear, and it was entirely too cold for just a tshirt, but... for all Dorian didn’t _want_ to notice, he couldn’t help but glance over that pale skin that was seemingly a bit pink. Blushing? Dorian didn’t know why, but maybe he was.

“Just... water first,” he explained, then gestured to his own arm, “hopefully this won’t make me more sick.”

\----

“I'm sure I'm not interested in what the lady audience thinks,” Cullen returned, one hand raising to work the knot in his neck. If only this man _knew_ … but he shouldn't. That would only further complicate things. Let him think what he would about Cullen's preferences. Maybe that would make it easier in the long run. If he was even interested. _Maker, it doesn't matter if he is or not. Just stop._ “... or any audience for that matter.”

He paused and considered the patch on the man's arm. So he was still feeling ill - it was only bound to get worse as the boat pulled out into open waters if those patches weren't effective. It was a problem, and not anything Pavus could help. Some people were just prone to motion sickness, Cullen knew. He also knew that he'd promised to show the man how to make that ginger tea this morning, and Cullen wasn't the type to break promises if he could help it.

“Boat still bothering you?” he asked, careful to keep his tone… well, not cold, but trying his best to sound like a deck boss asking after one of his crew. He wasn't sure how successful he was, standing there in a filthy tshirt and absently running a hand over the tattoo on his forearm as he shifted from side to side. He rather felt like he was trying to gain his footing instead of standing on solid ground. Maybe he came off more confident than he felt. “Let me know if those things don't work. There's still, ah, that ginger tea you can try.”

 _Why am I still standing here?_ He should have walked away. He should have turned on his heel and gone to his bunk to do what he said he was going to do. He shouldn't be sticking around, offering to make tea, regardless of any promise he'd made.

\----

‘I’ll be alright,” Dorian answered, and he offered a small smile toward Cullen. It was a bit hot and cold, this talking situation they had. Sometimes Cullen glared at him or just... stared, and sometimes he blushed and looked at Dorian like maybe he was _interested_. Or, at least, talked to him like something of a friend... ish. They were a bit hot now, it seemed, especially with those little smiles from before. “If it gets worse, though, I’ll take you up on that tea.”

Grey eyes were drawn to that tattoo, and Dorian nodded toward it, “And here I expected you lot to be covered in sea monsters and... other things?” he teased gently, “not a Templar crest.” It was amazing the things you learned about someone in those quick glances and the little things people decorated their body with. “Did you... serve?” he asked gently. From what he knew of the Order in the South, they tended to do more than the ones in the Imperium. A lot more. “Off the record, of course. You don’t want that on camera, I won’t put it out there,” he finished, “I just…”

What? _Want to know more about you, you handsome fuck?_ Yeah. Pretty much.

\----

“I did,” he answered, tone clipped. That much, at least, was known. It was part of the information the producers had dug up and added to his online bio. _Cullen served in the Templar Order, reaching the rank of Knight Captain - one of the youngest in Templar history - before being honorably discharged at the age of 27._ And oh, he'd fought them to remove that. It still left a bitter taste in his mouth, but in the end, that was something any curious person with an internet connection and time could find out on their own, and Trev had talked him down. It bothered him, got under his skin and gave him an empty feeling in his gut to see all he'd been, everything that had happened, reduced to one glib line in an online bio. He'd much rather they know nothing at all.

Of course, he couldn't hide the tattoo that stretched from his wrist to his elbow and spread across and around his forearm. Not always, anyway, and he didn't want to. It had served as a point of pride 8 years ago. Now? Now, it was a reminder of the many mistakes that should never be repeated. And that served a purpose, too, he found, as he regained his footing. “You'll understand if it's not something I want to discuss.” His voice carried the weight of finality, and he drew himself up to his full height with a set jaw. “On or off the record.”

\----

Well, that must have touched a nerve. And they were back to cold again. Wonderful. Dorian was feeling entirely too nauseated to deal with it, too. “That’s fine,” he answered with a wave of one hand, “I get it.” That same hand lifted to run through his hair, which was completely ruined after all the back and forth in and out of the boat today, and Dorian closed his eyes for a moment before he looked back up at Cullen with a small smile. “I’ll stop bothering you so you can get changed,” he went on, “I’ve got to get a few shots of everyone on deck with the leaving, so…”

So... he staggered back toward the room he and Varric shared. They’d only pulled a few feet away from the dock, if that, but somehow his mind supplied that they were in the middle of some typhoon situation, and Dorian just wanted to be ill. But he couldn’t. He needed his camera. So, he grabbed it and headed up and out onto the deck. At least the fresh air would do... something. Hopefully.

Something to maybe ease the sting of that hot and cold. It shouldn’t have bothered him, but there was something about those amber eyes and soft Fereldan accent that made Dorian want to be _liked_ by that brute of man. Maker help him.

\----

Cullen sighed and began biting at the inside of his cheek as he watched the cameraman walk away… or try to. He was already staggering, and they hadn't even reached the real chop of the open water yet. Hopefully, those patches would actually help - for everyone's sake. It would be a nightmare dealing with a stumbling, sick man on deck, after all. That was… surely, that was the only reason for this spike of concern.

After Pavus left the galley and made his way down the narrow hall to his room, Cullen set off for his own - same direction, but his was the first door, whereas the two cameramen shared a bunk at the end. Safely inside, he took a breath to steady himself. Maybe he'd been too harsh with his tone. He'd meant the words… but he could have been nicer about it. _Maker, stop obsessing. You wanted distance - you're making it._ And by the look on Pavus’ face, he'd been successful. Cullen ignored the little twinge - that was just how it had to be - as he pulled on a clean undershirt and mostly clean sweater. He abandoned his favorite jacket with the fur lined hood for a rain slicker, and finished it off with his red knit cap. _Time to feel that sea air_.

Up on deck, the guys had all cracked open a few beers on celebration. It was 12 hours to the grounds, and they knew better than to go so far as to have hangovers the next day, so Cullen left them to it. He kept an eye on Alistair, though… just to make sure the greenhorn didn't overdo it. That was a lesson he'd not learned yet.

Pavus was already there with his camera, though Cullen made a concerted effort not to watch him for the time being. The sun was on its way towards setting, and all he wanted was a moment's peace with the salt spray on his face in the golden cast of sunset. So, he waved at the guys in greeting, lit a cigarette, and took up his spot on the rails by the hydros, eyes scanning the horizon as he prayed for a bountiful season where everyone made money and everyone made it home.

\----

That bit of celebration was a good one to watch, and Dorian had smiled through the rolling feeling in his stomach as he watched the others with a beer and toasting to a good season. It made him feel, perhaps not better, a little less like this was something so doom and gloom. The others had heckled him until he put the camera down as well, and even let him enjoy a bit of the festivities (though beer wasn’t Dorian’s drink of choice) with them. It hadn’t helped to settle his stomach, but the being included was good. The fact that he wasn’t being completely ignored helped to soothe some of that ache from before, especially when Alistair turned his bright smile in Dorian’s direction. The camera bloody loved him, for sure, and so would Thedas.

Eventually everyone had retired back inside, though Dorian hadn’t really wanted to stay in. He’d put his camera away, but before too long the cloud of smoke and smell of engine and fish and rubber got to be too much. That was probably going to be something that happened, he had a feeling, as was the worsening lurch in his stomach the further from port that they got. He’d been sick a few times already, and had all but gone through half a tube of toothpaste for how many times he’d brushed his teeth. So instead of sticking around, partially because navigating around a bunch of men while trying not to throw up on them was difficult enough, Dorian headed back out to the deck. Clean air would help, and at least if he was sick it would be over the side.

The minute the cool air hit him, though, some of the nausea melted away. Somehow it felt better outside, despite the rolling of the boat, and Dorian all but sank down to sit on the floor of the deck. Not the best idea, he knew, but it just felt so good to have cool air on his skin and not be choked by cigarette smoke. Of course, he wanted one, but the thought of actually smoking right now made his stomach feel even worse. No, this was better. Dorian tipped his head back against the metal wall behind him and just breathed in. Much better.

And it was genuinely beautiful out there. The sky was dark, but it seemed like a million stars made the deck bright. Dorian had spent his life in the city, barring some summers in the country, so this was a novelty. That crisp, cold air and beautiful sky actually helped, since if he looked up he couldn’t really see the motion of the boat. Team that with the sound of waves, and it wasn’t so bad.

Mostly.


	7. Casting Off [2 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A good omen paints the night sky and raises the spirits of both Cullen and Dorian... for a time.

Though Cullen kept an eye on the little celebration, he needn't have. They all knew this was their last chance for real sleep for a good long while, and it seemed they were keen to take advantage. So, they all made their way back below decks, including Pavus, Cullen noted, and he was blissfully alone. It wasn't that he disliked the company, but sometimes… well, sometimes he just needed a little solitude in a place that didn't feel like it was closing in on him.

He'd stayed out on that deck as the lights of the port town faded out and golden sunset turned to a night darker and crisper than any that could be seen from the shoreline. Other than the hum of the engine and the beating of the waves against the hull, it was quiet, and Cullen was alone with his thoughts… of which, there were many. A confusing storm of them, actually - most of them centered around just how strangely he'd been acting since meeting a certain camera man the day before. Pavus had him reeling since the word go - just when he thought he had control, he felt it slipping away. And then he'd asked about the Templars, and that was… that was a walk down memory lane he'd rather not take. Even his own family didn't know the extent of it. None of them really knew the shit that went down.

_Kirkwall_

A breath escaped scarred lips as Cullen worked to clear his mind. Under this beautiful sky with the sea in front of him, he'd rather not…

And then amber eyes snapped open in shock. “Maker…” he breathed as the night sky was suddenly on fire, lights dancing and weaving and collapsing in on themselves before him. The Southern Lights - the aurora - played out across the sky, and for a moment, he was a boy again, looking up at the night sky in wonder. It was beautiful.

It was also good luck. The guys would want to see this. He turned, laughing softly and moved quickly to the stairs that would take him down… but there was someone there. Pavus was sitting on the deck, tucked just inside a wall where he couldn't see the painted sky. Cullen pulled up short at the man's feet, still smiling and running just a little giddy as he held out a hand.

“Get up. Come here,” he said with a grin, nodding his head in the direction of the portside rails. “You have to see this.”

\----

He’d been content to sit there and just look up, but someone was speaking to him. Dorian hadn’t even heard the door open, but suddenly there was a burly Fereldan filling his view with a hand outstretched. Even more suddenly, Dorian wondered if he’d fallen asleep or something, and if this was a dream. He blinked twice in attempt to clear his contacts, as if the image of the man in front of him would wipe away, but no. There was Cullen in his view and yet again talking to him with that same smile he’d worn before.

Maker, but the man was exhausting.

“What?” he asked quickly, but was then on his feet, warm hand wrapped around his own, and being led over to the rail. Maybe he looked sicker than he thought if the man was leading him there, but the face Cullen had going wasn’t one of concern or disgust at Dorian’s sickness. He tripped a bit over his feet as the boat rolled again, and he squeezed that hand in his own to steady himself, then reached out to grab the railing as they came to the side of the boat.

“See what?” he asked again, keenly aware of the slight whine in his voice as he looked over the side at dark water and... a sky on fire, almost. It was beautiful. “I’d always thought this was a bit of a myth,” Dorian commented as he tried to get his legs under him again, “Maker.”

\----

He flashed the man that smile Cullen only wore in the moments when he was truly happy, full and open and brilliant as his eyes twinkled in the lights that played above them. It wasn't an expression he wore often, and he wasn't conscious of it now, but the sky was glorious and breathtaking - it touched him in a way he hadn't felt in a long time and wiped away all the shit he'd been so worried about just a few minutes ago. Right now, he was just Cullen - without the baggage of the past weighing him down.

“No,” he returned, free hand gesturing to the night sky, “It's real enough, and good luck, too. They're normally not this far north - this _means_ something…”

He trailed off as his eyes focused back on the lights that were shifting across the sky. He was at ease there under those burning colors, and the years melted off his face while wide eyes took it in. A warmth was at his hand, and he squeezed to hold on to it. He didn't think about it, he just did. He just did because it felt right and everything was just so… nice right now.

\----

Well, this was certainly a surprise. Dorian wasn’t quite sure what to do, other than to just keep looking up and _not_ be sick. Thankfully, that was easy enough when he was looking up at the sky and not at the water. Though, the longer he stood there and became aware of the situation the more he had to split his attention between the beautiful lights in the sky and the beautiful light in Cullen’s face. He was hot again, it seemed, or... well, he was feeling talkative and approachable, anyway. The man was rather hot, in a Fereldan fisherman kind of way, but that had little to do with how he seemed to either run away or toward Dorian depending on the moment.

“Good season, perhaps?” Dorian asked softly, then with that soft squeeze at his hand his gaze lowered until he saw where his and Cullen’s were still linked together. Cullen’s hand was warmer than anything Dorian could remember, and now that he was aware of it he felt that heat go all the way up his arm like he’d felt before when he’d just touched him before. This really was a strange sort of...whatever it was. Especially since, even with Cullen’s face so bright and happy, Dorian had a feeling he’d move like he’d been burned if he realized they were still touching.

So he just stood there for a long moment, attention caught between the sky and the man beside him, and just... enjoyed it. There wasn’t going to be time for a lot of this starting tomorrow, if Trev was to believed, so this was nice. This was something he’d never get to see otherwise. It wasn’t maybe enough to make this whole situation worth the sickness, danger, possible death, and glaring, but it did help. It was almost magical. It made him feel calm and a bit less sick somehow. The wind was still cold, and every so often a bit of spray came up over the side, but it felt good. Cold, but good.

Still, the longer they stood there (and Dorian without any of the wet weather gear) the colder he felt. Other than that hand. His mind was calm, as was his body, but... Dorian was cold. Subtly, or so he hoped, he moved in closer to Cullen’s bulk where it was a bit warmer and blocking the spray and wind a little. Their hands were still connected, and Dorian squeezed just lightly enough to hopefully not draw too much attention.

“Or maybe like you weren’t cursed with a greenhorn?” Dorian asked after another long moment, “though I’m sure I sound even more like one when I say that.”

\----

Cullen chuckled and turned his head to look at the man next to him. Close - had he been this close before? Did it matter? He was there and he was warm and Cullen was happy for the moment. He unconsciously elected to enjoy it as he grinned again. “Since it appears we're twice cursed on this boat,” he teased, “I rather hope it means a good season is ahead of us. Either way,” he continued, inclining his head towards the aurora, “beautiful, no?” And it was, but so was the way the lights bounced and reflected in those grey eyes. Maybe even more so, and there was that stirring in his chest and a word in his mind.

_Beautiful._

\----

“Oh... it’s certainly that,” Dorian agreed with a small nod. Was he talking about those lights, though, or about the man who looked like he’d all but melted ten years and a world of problems away under them? Both, actually. This was something he’d never be privy to in any other situation, and just for the moment he was settled enough to enjoy it. “You…” he began again, then bit at his lip as he looked back up into those melting colors, “look very happy seeing this. Promise of good season aside.”

This was altogether too much like a dream. His head felt clouded in a way that had nothing to do with the nausea running through him, and he was almost sure that if Cullen didn’t have a hold on his hand that he might float away up into those phantom colors. This was the kind of thing you read about in books, not something you lived in real life, and with that strong and solid bulk beside him Dorian had to wonder if maybe this hot and cold thing was starting to really affect his ability to keep it separate from his professional brain. He’d thought of Cullen in more than a few compromising ways just earlier that day, embarrassing as it was to admit, and now there he was hand in hand with the man and looking longingly up at the sky at night.

Fuck it. If this was a dream then he was going to make it a good one, and if it wasn’t a dream maybe he could sort out some of this hot and cold business. Nothing worked like being direct, after all, and after too many years, Dorian Pavus didn’t exactly work in subtlety. Life was too short. So he leaned up, over one large shoulder and along that warm body so he could press just the lightest kiss to Cullen’s cheek. It almost didn’t clear the man’s ear, and Dorian’s cheek brushed stubble and a bit of that knit cap as he leaned in close. “Thank you,” he murmured in Cullen’s ear, “for, uh... showing me. I’d have been sad to miss this.”

\----

_Happy? I suppose I am…_ the words were loaded up, ready to be spoken, when Cullen felt the press of soft, warm lips against his cheek and felt hot breath against his skin as words were murmured low into his ear. That stirring in his chest became a pounding, and his throat felt thick. This… what he'd felt earlier had been just a fluttering compared to this wave set to rolling by that light brush of lips against his skin. Cullen's breath hitched a bit and his mind cleared of nothing but this man beside him and the way he'd gotten to him like no one else before had.

Hands moved of their own accord as Cullen turned to face the object of his, yes, desire. At this point, it was ridiculous to think it anything less. It had been a while, a good, long, cold while since he'd felt anything close to this, but he recognized it. Under that dancing night sky, he knew this for what it was, and his fingers curled into fabric as he pulled the man in closer, chest to chest now, and Cullen's mind was full of nothing but _more that's not enough._ Maker help him, he felt like he was slipping under as he leaned in and closed his eyes and just breathed in that scent and wanted to feel those lips, but on his this time, and for longer. Much longer and…

_Stop. This is madness. The line, Cullen. Toe the line._

The moment passed as the lights died in the sky, leaving the deck as dark and cold as it had been before. Cullen released the man's jacket and took a step back, hand rising to his mouth. “No,” he half-whispered, half-groaned, “No. No. I can't… I'm sorry. I don't… I don't know what I was thinking.” A wave of emotion washed through him - pain, frustration, longing, shame. He'd let this go too far, and why? Because there were pretty lights in the sky? No. Never again. “I'm sorry,” he repeated as he turned and walked back to the stairs.

Or was he running away from the man he'd left alone by the rails?

\----

Maker, but Dorian could have screamed. It wasn’t so much that there’d _almost_ been a kiss. A kiss would have been great, sure, but more than that it was the being pulled so close and then pushed away again. Clearly this wasn’t a dream. It was a real life thing, under those pretty lights, that he’d very possibly just ruined. Then again, at least it was _something_. Those looks before, the side eye and the way Dorian noted that Cullen seemed to watch him, maybe it wasn’t just concern. It was _interest_.

Closeted, maybe? Dorian didn’t know.

What he did know, though, was that he missed that warmth, and the way that Cullen had covered his mouth and looked reasonably terrified made Dorian feel a bolt of cold that had nothing to do with the spray and wind go through him. ‘Sorry’ only did so much. ‘Sorry’ usually meant ‘sorry I got involved’ instead of ‘sorry I made you feel like shit.’ That sorry? That sorry was something about shame. Dorian didn’t do shame. Not anymore.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and wiped a hand over his face as the boat rolled again and the urge to be sick took him. Dorian turned, grabbed the railing with one cold hand and one still warmed by Cullen’s, and emptied his stomach over the side.

He wished it had been a dream.

\----

The alarm was blaring. It was blaring - time to go relieve Trev in the wheelhouse so the captain could get some rest before the first strings - and Cullen had gotten no sleep. Or that's what it felt like. His eyes may have closed for a while, but it couldn't have been for more than thirty minutes. He just… he couldn't turn it off, his whirling mind, and he found that it was still churning as he rolled out of bed, pulled on clothes, and stumbled into the galley for coffee.

_Too far. That went too far._

He was the deck boss and Pavus was like crew; that slip was just… it was dumb. He'd thought as long as he had his wits about him, he could handle it. Clearly, that wasn't the case - his wits seemed to disappear when he was alone with the man.

“Morning,” he greeted Trev up in the wheelhouse.

“Good night,” Trev returned, laughing through a yawn. “You see those lights last night? It's a good sign.”

“I did,” Cullen answered, a bit curtly. _You don't know the half of it._ After a quick changing of the guard, so to speak, Trev left for bed, and Cullen was alone with his thoughts again. It was this sort of shit - getting too close, blurring the lines between command and those he commanded - that had fed into all the crap that went wrong in Kirkwall. This wasn't anywhere near that situation, of course, but lives were still on the line. He couldn't allow this to go any farther than it already had. He couldn't.

_I just… I can't be alone with him, clearly._

Maybe that was the solution. To not interact with the man whenever possible, and make sure there was always someone else around. At least for a while. Until he really had control of this. The whole thing was so… bizarre and sudden, it left him frustrated and exhausted. Ill at ease with himself - with his world. To be so completely shaken by one man in the span of two days; he wouldn't have thought it possible. It was improbable at best… but here he was.

_Leave him be unless he's doing something stupid. Don't be alone with him._

Amber eyes stared out into the dark as Cullen sipped his coffee and made up his mind. That's what he'd do. He'd just cut it off. That's how he'd get through without… compromising himself and the crew.

\----

So. If that little moment on deck had very possibly been a dream, or so Dorian might have hoped it was, then pretty much every moment since then was an actual waking nightmare. Ten hours ago Dorian might have said that he was enjoying this. During last talks with the executive producers and directors he’d not taken up the last offer to go because the setting up and everything had been reasonably alright. Maker take him, but the first shots were a bit fun. In port. Tied to a dock. This? This was the furthest thing from fun. This was absolute fucking _torture_.

It was like he couldn’t remember a time before the nausea and the rocking. Every step took twice as much effort just to land correctly and not be tipped over, and every bob of the boat had Dorian’s stomach going from his knees to his neck. It was fucking terrible. Trev had gotten everyone up and into their rain gear, Dorian included in some horrible yellow slicker and the boots he’d bought before, then out on the deck for the first pots of be loaded and launched. This was real, actual go time. This was real, actual go time crammed with five other guys on the cluttered deck with a tipping boat and Dorian’s sick stomach.

No one was probably surprised when it was terrible.

Dorian did his best to stay out of the way. Especially since looking through the tiny lens of the camera made the pitching feeling worse. But it took literally fifteen minutes for him to be standing there, out of the dreaded ‘circle’ for the moment, before his legs sort of half gave out for the effort it took to just _stand_ and Dorian pitched sideways into an empty plastic box that was used to haul crab from the sorting table to the tank openings.

“Whoa!” Barris called, “camera guy down!”

Dorian groaned. Where he’d crashed into the top of the tub ached already, and he pulled the camera up into his lap as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fuck,” he hissed softly.

“Aw, come on,” Barris called again, “it’s not that bad.”

He wanted to say something scathing back, Dorian really did, but the act of pulling himself back to his feet and the rolling of the boat seemed to melt together in one swift motion to make him stumble to the deck again and gag up what very little was left in his stomach now. His throat burned, his vision swam, and for just a moment he might have actually prayed for a swift death. Dorian had never been sick like this before, not that he could recall, and it was... Maker, he still had to _work._

“I’ll bet Varric is loving watching this through the monitors,” he grumbled finally and slowly climbed back to his feet so he could shoulder the camera again.

\----

It was far too early in the season to be this tired. They were barely started on their first string, and Cullen felt like they'd been grinding for days. He supposed that's what hardly any sleep and a mind that ran constantly at a mile a minute would do, but it didn't help his mood. He caught himself snapping at the littlest things, and even the seasoned deckhands were giving him dirty looks by the fifth pot of the string. After this string, they'd have a few minutes of downtime, and Cullen meant to hit the coffee and hit it hard.

He tried, Maker he tried to ignore the cameraman’s pitching and weaving on deck. He was outside the work area, at least, but he looked terrible and was having a hard time standing in one place. _He's fighting the boat, not moving with it._ And the misery painted so plainly on the man's face… well, it brought an odd mix of annoyance and concern. _He shouldn't have come if he couldn't even handle this._ Followed by _but he didn't have a choice, apparently, and look at him._ It drove him to distraction and between that and the exhaustion and the headache setting in… concentrating on the work took a lot more effort than it really should have.

Still, he managed. At least until he heard Barris’ shout and looked up from the controls to see Pavus on his ass next to a bin. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered under his breath, but still that twinge of concern needled at him. Those patches weren't doing a damn thing, it seemed, and the man's equilibrium was all off.

“Theirin, to me,” he boomed across the deck. The greenhorn approached from the bait station, a wary look in his eyes. Cullen deserved that for all the snapping he'd been doing, but he wasn't about to take the man to task.

But he did have a task for him.

“Something you need?” the greenhorn asked as he walked up even with Cullen.

“Yeah,” Cullen grunted, “Or rather, something _he_ needs.” He jerked his head in the direction of the cameraman who was pulling himself to his feet. “Go get those ginger candies you guys picked up yesterday and make sure he eats one of them. I can't handle all this… flopping around on deck.” He'd offered that tea, but he'd also made the resolution not to engage with the man, or be alone with him, if he could help it. Asking a man to leave the deck during a string was… well, it wasn't done, but Pavus clearly needed something. The candies wouldn't help with the equilibrium problems, but they'd settle the man's stomach… which might make him strong enough to stay on his own two feet. “And be quick about it. Barris’ll cover, but we need you out here.”

He told himself he was doing this because the seasick cameraman was a distraction. It wasn't because he cared… not any more than he would usually for a member of the crew. That wasn't it at all.

Cullen sucked his teeth and glowered at the fact that he was disrupting work like this as he barked an order for Barris to get on bait, and Theirin ran inside to do what Cullen had asked.

\----

It was another five minutes or so before Dorian set the camera down and leaned against a pole. Maker, he felt awful. Pulling away from the small lens helped, and he tipped his head back to look up at the sky where the pitching didn’t matter. Doing that every so often cleared the fog in his head, but it didn’t do so well with settling his stomach. The last time he’d felt this bad had been a horrible flu when he was still living with his parents. Now was much the same: shaking under his clothes for the effort to stand, sweat pouring down him under the rubber rain gear and effort to get back and forth, weak arms and tossing stomach. It was awful.

“Dorian?” asked a rather small voice, one that was plagued with some of the same troubles, and he turned to see Alistair standing there. Bless him, he always had a bit of a smile on his face, despite the pitching of the boat. It actually made Dorian feel a little better. “Orders from above,” he went on and pressed a few orange wrapped candies into Dorian’s hand, “have some of these and see if they help your stomach.”

A soft laugh escaped him, and for a moment Dorian’s sickness was miles away. Simple kindness did a lot of good, didn’t it? “Thanks,” he answered as he unwrapped one and popped it into his mouth. At least he liked ginger, anyway. It gave his mind something to focus on, too. “You have a few?”

Alistair nodded and pointed to his back teeth, “don’t crunch on them too soon or your jaw will stick together,” he offered with that same smile, “I’ll be picking it out of my teeth for the next week or so.”

Ah, Maker bless this man. Something simple as a laugh about candy sticking teeth together helped him forget, though it didn’t help him stumble when the boat pitched forward. “I’m starting to wonder if maybe I shouldn’t tie myself to something,” Dorian muttered.

“Maybe don’t,” Alistair answered, “should you need to move in a hurry. Or if someone _thinks_ you need to.” A quick glance back toward the others and a cutting glance to Cullen had them both chuckling, “I’ve got more bait to hang, but…”

“Go on, then,” Dorian prompted and hefted the camera to his shoulder again and focused through the lens, “I’ll make sure no one forgets the greenhorn.” The kid was a good one. He was honest and sweet, and admittedly some of the teasing wore on Dorian’s nerves to see them pick on Alistair so much. It was part of the job, the hazing, but that didn’t necessarily make him feel better about having to see it so close up.

By the time Alistair had made it back to the bait station, the others were already yelling for him, “Come on, kid! Move your ass! The slower you go the less money we make!” from Samson and cheers of agreement from the others.

It was going to be a long couple of days, Dorian noted, then squeezed his eyes shut a the boat rolled again and he stumbled on the way to the other side of the launcher so he could get a wider shot of the others. His knee hit the deck hard, though he didn’t go down completely, and he grunted to himself as he stood back up.

\----

Alistair completed the task Cullen had set for him quickly enough, but the lingering chitchat wasn't anything he'd asked for. As the others teased the greenhorn, Cullen set to retrieving the next pot for the launcher with a set jaw. It annoyed him - everything was annoying him today. He felt like his nerve ends were raw and exposed, and no amount of deep breaths were helping. Not that headache, not the growing burn between his shoulder blades, and certainly not his mood. From the corner of his eye, he saw Pavus take a knee - another fall - and he grit his teeth to keep from yelling. He couldn't help the exasperated scowl that covered his face, though, and tried to throw his full attention on getting this short prospect string landed.

Easier said than done, though, as he realized part of his mind was always aware of where Pavus was on deck. And even that was grating. Why couldn't he just lock this down? He'd made a mistake last night, letting the lights and everything get to him, and though he tried not to dwell on it, he was reminded of that fact each time the cameraman drew his attention. Infuriating. He was in control, wasn't he? Maybe not, but he had a strong will, or he used to. He should have been able to handle this.

He was working on autopilot as his mind circled around the problem stumbling about on deck. The weather was as fair as it got out here and things seemed to be moving quickly, anyway…

Maybe too quickly, he realized as his eyes snapped to where Alistair had launched himself into a pot that had just been loaded onto the launcher, bait in hand. He was eager to please… to eager, in fact. The dogs, the metal hooks that clamped the pot to the launcher hadn't even engaged yet, and the man was inside. _Maker, how many times has he done that?_ Cullen thought as he took a breath and slammed down on the controls that moved the dogs in place.

“Andraste’s blood! Get your ass out of there,” he bellowed as he approached the greenhorn. “Never… and I mean fucking _never_ get in to bait a pot before the dogs engage. For fuck’s sake, man. All it takes is one wave and that whole thing’ll go over - you included.”

“I'm sorry,” Alistair began, a little paler than he had been before.

“Don't be sorry, be fucking careful,” Cullen snapped back. “And you lot,” he directed at the rest of the crew, “watch for this shit. You know better than that.”

“What's got your panties in a wad, Rutherford?” Samson returned, “We're doing our jobs. Teaching him up is yours.”

Cullen's jaw set and his nostrils flared as he stared the engineer down. A tense moment passed, and it felt like all eyes were on the two of them to see how the deck boss would react. He took a few strides towards Samson. “He goes overboard, _you_ tell his family you were doing your job and didn't notice.”

“It's ok, boss,” Alistair added, hands up and trying to defuse the situation, “I'll be more careful. It's my fault.”

Cullen glared at Samson for a breath longer before turning and nodding at Alistair. “Do that. Please.”

He rolled his shoulders and sighed as he stalked back to his position at the controls. They weren't even halfway into the prospect string, and already things had escalated like that. It was starting to look like maybe those lights from the night before hadn't meant a damn thing.

\----

Maker’s breath. Dorian wasn’t unused to directors who got snappy and yell-y when things didn’t go their way. He’d seen it, been the butt of it, and in a few cases didn’t even care that he’d _caused_ it. This, though? He frowned as he kept the camera focused, zoomed in on Samson’s face, and looked up for a moment to watch the insanity. Of course he’d had a feeling Cullen would be a bit of a monster on deck, considering the rough treatment before, but this was more than what he’d expected. That wasn’t the same man who’d smiled at him over breakfast or grabbed his hand the night before and looked positively _giddy_. This was... someone else.

He kept his mouth shut, though, and just braced himself against whatever he could. It wasn’t his place to get in the thick of it, even though he knew his producers would want him to go and ask questions about how it felt to have Cullen yelling. The problem was, then, that Cullen would probably start yelling at _him_ and between the balance and the nausea, Dorian couldn’t handle that right now.

It was still disconcerting. For all Cullen was so big on the being safe, which thank the Maker he had actually noticed what had happened with Alistair, the yelling and snorting wasn’t really going to help anything. If anything, it might have shocked him into something bad happening. But, again, Dorian just filmed. He didn’t say anything. Grey eyes watched the larger man, though his camera was still focused on the others.

Something about Cullen settled in the back of Dorian’s head like a splinter. It was maddening how he always seemed to know where the man was, even if the camera wasn’t on him. It was maddening that he’d made Dorian feel so... stupid. Easy. Like he was someone some lonely guy could cozy up to then freak out about. Dorian wasn’t that type. He’d read interest there, which he might have been, but Dorian didn’t do hot and cold. Not anymore. It just bothered him that he was so fucking _aware_.

He gritted his teeth, tried to roll with the boat, but now that they had a moment the camera dropped and Dorian dashed to the rail so that he could throw up even less than before. Again.

\----

Stretched thin. That was the best way Cullen could put how he felt. Too tired, too confused, too everything. What just happened, it was and wasn't like him all at the same time. Any other season, he'd have gotten on the greenhorn’s case for the mistake Alistair had made, but the way he'd acted was just _mean._ Cullen was gruff at times, could be blunt and overly critical where safety was concerned, but he wasn't _mean._ Cullen didn't like it - didn't like feeling like the bad guy and didn't like the way the men were working now, silent and like they were waiting for another explosion.

_Pull it together, Rutherford._

They finished that prospect string like that. Subdued and walking on eggshells, and that was Cullen's fault. He needed… _something._ More coffee, more sleep, less distraction. Even now, his mind kept track of the cameraman’s movements, and when Pavus ran to the rails heaving, Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes against the odd mix of exhaustion, frustration, and concern - not to mention pain building up from that headache. If he could just get rid of one of those things, he'd feel better. He'd _be_ better, he knew.

Of course, there wasn't much to be done. For any of it. He'd just have to suck it up.

Finally, that first string was done. It was a half hour to the next area Trev wanted to prospect, so Cullen called for a break and made a quick escape to the galley for coffee and a couple of elfroot tabs. He mixed up a cup, swallowed that medicine, and collapsed at the little table in the galley, head in his hands and wishing he could just crawl into bed and start over.

\----

There wasn’t much to shoot during the breaks, save for the crew when they ducked in the little ready room to stay out of the water. Cullen and Blackwall had gone inside for a quick coffee, which would have been amazing, but Dorian’s stomach couldn’t handle it. Instead, he set up the camera to film and leaned his head back against the cold steel wall. How could it be so cold and yet he was sweating? His joints felt like jelly, and he just... Maker, it was terrible.

“You should have some of that electrolyte shite,” Samson grunted toward him, “the purple stuff in the bottles in the fridge. Might help you keep it down.”

“Would that I could move,” Dorian whimpered, then let out a groan as he was pulled to his feet by the engineer.

Samson gave him a look, eyes staring into Dorian’s, “You get in there and drink some of that, now. You start getting dehydrated out here and we’ll have a problem. Go on. You’ll feel better if you do.”

Maker help him. The crew actually wanted to see him better. It just mean _getting_ to the galley, though. Maybe he ought to change, though. Under the rain gear his clothes were soaked with sweat and it was starting to feel pretty awful. Drink and clothes. Dorian could do that.

So he made his way into the galley to grab a cup of that juice... water... whatever it was. Inside was warmer than out, though it didn’t make him feel any better, and as he reached the fridge Dorian paused when he saw that Cullen was sitting at the table. Should he say something? Maker, was he going to start shouting just for being in there? Dorian didn’t know.

Slowly and quietly Dorian pulled out one of the small-ish bottles from the fridge and tried to pour it into a plastic cup. The problem, however, was that his hands were now shaking so badly that were he not poised over the sink it would have made a huge mess. “Maker damn it,” he hissed as he tried to force his body to calm down and just... pour something so he could drink it.

\----

The coffee was hot and sweet, and it warmed Cullen just enough to take the edge off the raw sort of way he was feeling. For now, at least. As he took bolstering sips, he prayed the elfroot would kick in soon. That would take care of at least one of the things on his list of things that were wrong. The frustration would hopefully go with the pain. There was nothing for the exhaustion but coffee until they had enough time for a nap. Which left that concern he'd been feeling for…

_“Maker damn it.”_

Somehow, Pavus was there in the galley with him. Of course he was there. Why wouldn't the one person Cullen was actively trying to distance himself from be right there? Sometimes, it really felt like the Maker was having a go at him. Amber eyes settled on the figure at the kitchen sink, wrestling with a bottle of that electrolyte stuff they'd brought in yesterday. _Good._ He thought, _at least he's taking care of himself._

Except he couldn't pour it. Not with those shaking hands, and Cullen's eyebrows knit together. Was the boat really taking that much out of him? No wonder he was falling all over himself - it was a wonder he could stand out there at all if his muscles were already tired enough to shake like that. Years, a lifetime, had passed since Cullen was first on a boat, and he'd long since forgotten how draining it was.

And here Pavus was, still trying. Maker damn it, he couldn't let the man just fumble like that, not when he was trying like that. Even though he knew he should still be working on that space, even though he'd made a vow to avoid the man just hours ago, Cullen rose quietly and walked over to where the man was standing at the sink. “Here,” he prompted, and gently took the bottle and cup from the cameraman’s unsteady hands to pour some of that drink for him. As he handed that cup back and moved to put the bottle back in the fridge, he added, “It's hard to, but try to move with the boat instead of fighting her. You'll get it.”

He turned and went back to his coffee. That wasn't so difficult. He'd spoken words and been near without losing his faculties anyway. That was promising.

\----

He couldn’t even fight it when the cup and bottle were taken from him. Dorian wanted to, didn’t want this big bear of a man to help him along like he was a thirsty child asking his father for help, but he just... he couldn’t. He was too weak right now and far too tired to argue. It was taking a lot of effort to even be vertical and not turn and throw up into the sink. This... this was too much.

But then there was Cullen and after that display the night before, and on deck a minute ago, and he was back in Dorian’s space to be helpful before he practically sprinted away again. His already fuzzy mind couldn’t wrap around it. “Are you always like this?” Dorian asked after a moment, though his voice was less powerful than he wanted it to be, “or is this another initiation thing? Nice one minute and showing me something beautiful and... helping like this and then back to the glaring at me like I set you on fire or something?”

More, he just wanted to know if he’d _done_ something. If he had he could fix it, but if it was just because he _existed_ then he needed to know.

“Have I _done_ something to you and just not realized?” he went on, and lifted a shaking hand to sip at the drink. It was cold and felt good in his mouth that felt and tasted so hot and sour from being sick.

\----

Well, it just got more difficult. Cullen stopped short at the sound of the man's voice and that question. Had Pavus done something to him? Well, yes, but not anything the man could help. He'd done things to Cullen just by being there, apparently. The big man rolled his shoulders and sighed before grabbing his coffee cup and moving back to the counter to refill it. He'd need much, much more of that before the morning was over, he expected.

As he poured, he considered the question. It was… it was so direct, but it was also fair. For someone who prided himself in consistency and habit, the past few days had seen him behaving as anything but that, especially where Pavus was concerned. He'd been everything from openly antagonistic to… whatever that was last night, and his cheeks burned with that realization - how must it have looked to the man for Cullen to be acting that way?

He wanted to just lay it out there. Part of him, anyway, the part that had reached out for the man last night. Truth was always better than lies, and Cullen was a bad liar anyway. But that might lead to other things - anything from being laughed at by assuming maybe he wasn't alone in his… interest to having that interest returned. Both prospects were equally terrifying… and potentially weaken him.

Pavus was waiting for an answer, one he deserved, and Cullen was just standing there mixing coffee and biting his lip. “No,” he finally answered, voice quiet as he turned to face the man, though his eyes were trained on the counter beside him. “No, you haven't done anything. It's just… it's been an odd few days, and I'm not… I'm not feeling like myself. That's, ah, that's all.” It was the truth, from a certain standpoint, but even that much evading of a direct question had him uncomfortable. The whole thing had him uncomfortable, and part of him wondered if the answer was standing in front of him.

_No. Mind the line. He may as well be crew. You remember that._

\----

He cast a glance back toward the door before he turned and looked back at the other man, “I just... wanted to be sure,” Dorian answered as he took another shaky sip from the cup, “and if, uh... if before was too much? Perhaps I read that wrong. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

There. Now it was out there, right? He was too tired and sick and sore to do more, even though the memory of that warm hand wrapped around his own was a nice one.

“I can stand by that staying out of your way still,” Dorian told him, “I just... we can call last night a heat of the moment situation. Leave it at that.”

\----

Wide amber eyes whipped up to meet grey, and words came from his mouth before he could process.

“That's not… you didn't…”

_You didn't read anything wrong. I was up all night thinking about you, and I can't help but seek you out on deck when you're near. Maker, I'm having to make myself mean just to keep you out of my mind. I don't know anything about you except the hints you've dropped and the feeling that there's more to you than I can see, but there's something there for me... and now I know there might have been something there for you, too. I want to know what that could be. I want to know more. I want._

He wanted to say all of that. He could say none of it.

Whether he knew it or not, Pavus was giving him an out, a way to write last night off and cut this… interest off clean. It was exactly what Cullen needed to move forward out of this fog of frustration that had gathered and caused him to lash out at those who hardly deserved it. A certain piece of him - the one that prescribed to duty and propriety and that line - sighed in relief. This conversation coupled with his renewed vow to maintain control would keep this under control. The season would end, and he'd go back to his comfortable little world knowing that he'd fulfilled his duty to those in his care. Alone… but he'd been alone for so long, he didn't know any other way to be.

_Let that be it, then. Heat of the moment and nothing else. Do it._

And he would. It was sad, though, and it left that other part of him feeling a little empty as he deflated, and his eyes returned to that spot on the counter they'd been studying before.

“You don't have to worry about me. It's fine,” he corrected himself, doing his best to make his voice sound final, and nodded. “For what it's worth, I am sorry. I acted out of line. I didn't want to… confuse things.” He picked up his cup and turned to leave before stopping to add, “But thank you… for your consideration.”

\----

It felt like he’d been slapped, honestly. If it had been something he’d done, then at least he could have fixed the action or... whatever. This? It only made that mantra of _you were being used_ grow louder in his head. Dorian had done his fair share of things he wasn’t proud of, but he definitely refused to be disrespected or treated like he was something to be played with then tossed away by some guy who was too awkward and lonely to bother with someone else. A short, agreed upon as a one night situation was one thing. Being pushed and pulled for someone’s amusement was another. Even if it was that this Cullen was confused... like _actually_ confused, it didn’t make it right to take that out on Dorian.

“Seems to me,” he began as he took another drink from the cup, “that the only thing ‘confused’ here is you.” Dorian was proud that his voice didn’t shake or quaver, and that he could at least manage some of the strength necessary to make it seem like his knees weren’t knocking together. Now he really needed to pull it out. After this? He couldn’t be sick and wavering. He couldn’t show that weakness, since it would only make it worse.

Dorian set his jaw and finished what was in the cup before he threw it away and stumbled back toward the door to go outside. It was like he couldn’t breathe again. All that heavy air mixed with the sight of the other man looking _guilty_ for having allowed himself some little moment of fraternization with a _man_ of all things. He couldn’t handle it.

_“You’ll never be anything serious, Dorian. You know that. No one takes that kind of relationship seriously.”_

He’d already had to stare down a moment with the prayer before. An onset of guilt and secondhand shame about his sexuality was going to have to wait at least a day or two before he could deal with that as well. Maker, Dorian should have guessed being on this boat was going to be difficult, but he’d never imagined that it would be like this.

\----

Amber eyes blinked at the man's receding back, and Cullen's face was frozen in an expression that was somewhere between anger and, appropriately, confusion.

_What the fuck was that?_ Pavus himself had said it was a heat of the moment thing, and Cullen had agreed and apologized, _actually apologized_ for his behavior. So why was the other man angry? Why did he look at Cullen with such… contempt? That look had spiked an icy dagger into his chest. It was a look that said Cullen was beneath him. It stung, and he took a step back to lean against the counter and take a steadying breath.

Well, fuck that. He'd spent enough time feeling off balance where he should have been comfortable, at home. The Herald had always been the place where he felt right - smiles and jokes came easier here, and he'd had a good working relationship with the crew. He trusted and respected every single one of them, and they returned that. Even if the show never painted that picture of him, _he_ knew it to be truth. But along came Dorian Pavus, and suddenly Cullen had been eaten up with doubt and frustration with himself, and he'd acted in a way that compromised all of that. Only for the man to look at him _like that_ and sniff as if Cullen was mud on the bottom of his high-dollar shoes.

_You wanted space. Here it fucking is._

And plenty of it, too. In a way, this was better. This made that promise to stay out of each other's way… easier. Far easier. Funny, despite the anger that had surged through him, or maybe because of it, he felt better than he had all morning. The elfroot was kicking in, and that vague sense of frustration and confusion was gone. There was nothing to be confused over any more.

Maybe first impressions weren’t so wrong.

He pulled a large thermos down from an overhead cabinet, dumped the contents of his cup in it, and then topped it off. However he felt right now, he could still feel that tiredness around the edges, after all. Lid screwed on the thermos, he headed back to the ready room to round the crew up and get them moving again.

But there was one thing he really should do before the work got back underway. When they were all back up on deck, he put his thermos down, lit a cigarette and called for two member of his crew.

“Samson, Theirin. A word?”

Alistair jogged up looking like he was expecting another good reaming, while Samson sauntered up slowly, face wearing an interesting mix of amused and wary.

“I may have been a little overzealous earlier…”

“More than a little,” Samson cut in.

Cullen nodded, “Yes, yes. I meant what I said - that was… you have no idea how dangerous that was… but I shouldn't have snapped like that. Rough morning and… I'm sorry.” He didn't often find himself apologizing to his crew, but he _had_ been rough. There was yelling because of concern for safety and there was yelling just to be a difficult ass. Cullen rather felt like he'd been the latter. If Samson had answered back… it would have gotten ugly, and that was just… that was just asinine. “Alistair, just be careful and Samson… well, you know.”

“Yep,” the engineer nodded and smirked.

That didn't make up for the way Cullen had treated them, but hopefully, it would help. “Alright, back to it, you two.”

“Y… yes, sir,” Alistair replied, though he looked confused.

“Don't ‘sir’ him, kid. Head’s big enough already,” Samson grinned and clapped a hand on the greenhorn’s shoulder. “Let's go - pots aren't gonna launch themselves. Or if they do, you can bet it's been a bad fucking day and we're about to go swimming.”

Cullen watched the two walk away, and just breathed. Now that that… mess with Mr. Pavus had sorted itself, Cullen could concentrate on what he should. Work. Work, and not prickly, smart-mouthed cameramen.


	8. Casting Off [3 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions come to a head and things shift between Dorian and Cullen.

He could remember one of the episodes he’d watched had one of the men on another boat saying that fishing was a lot like that movie where the man woke up on the same day over and over again. It was just one long day spent hauling huge traps, putting them over the side, taking a short break, then pulling up more. Dorian had thought that to be a bit dramatic when he saw it, but now he was starting to understand. He didn’t really know Trev, didn’t know the difference between a grind of set and pull and sort against leaving the thing for a while to catch the crab, but he did know that it felt like a strange pocket of time around them all. Hours melted together into series of beeps and numbers and shouting and orders, and Dorian felt his mind almost go blissfully blank as he worked.

Hours bled into days, and all that time on deck finally started to help him learn the motion of the boat. Cullen, much as Dorian hated to admit it, had been right about trying to move _with_ the Herald as opposed to _against_ to keep his balance, and he was getting around a bit better now. The seasickness was still pretty terrible and required him to empty his stomach not too long after he filled it with water and that electrolyte juice between strings, but it was slightly more manageable. That, or he was too tired and too focused to really worry about it anymore. The longer he, and the rest of the crew, were up and doing, the less it seemed to matter. It wasn’t until Trev finally pulled the plug and let everyone go in for six hours of rest that Dorian even noticed just how shaky and sick and exhausted he was.

And that was how it went. It was something like forty hours on, save for a few half hour breaks here and there to get to the strings set further away, and maybe five to seven hours off. Dorian didn’t know what day it was, or how long they’d really been out there, but all he knew was that he felt still sick and exhausted, and as he leaned back against a pole in attempt to not throw up again, he just wanted the boat to be fucking _still_ for thirty seconds. Everyone was tired and snippy now, and the glares that the deck bss shot him now were fucking intolerable. Dorian wasn’t the one who ran like a hot and cold tap, then threw it back in someone else’s face. Cullen was the one who acted so Maker damned high and mighty like Dorian was there for his amusement, then shame, then _consideration_. It was... it was too much to think about now.

So there might be considerably less footage of him this first part of the season to normal. Dorian didn’t even care. The others were more interesting and less dickish than he was anyway. Samson had his jokes, Alistair had his smile, Barris was actually quite lively when the fishing was good, and Blackwall had that warm teddy bear sort of thing going. They were good. They still pointed and laughed when Dorian fell or tripped, but for the most part, they helped him up. In one particularly hilarious moment, Barris had picked up Dorian's dropped camera and started filming him and asked the same series of questions Dorian had to ask - “are you okay?” “why did you fall?” “is the deck slippery or something?” Everyone had enjoyed that, it seemed, and Dorian had managed something of a smile despite the throbbing in his heels and lower back.

Now they were on yet another string, almost twenty hours in, and the fishing was... apparently, anyway, medicore. There weren’t any celebrations, but no one was particularly shitty. It was actually the best time, Dorian figured, to start weaving in and out of that ‘circle’ Cullen had warned him about before. Well, fuck the ‘circle’ and fuck him. Dorian wanted some candid shots of them pulling the giant pots out of the water, and if Cullen didn’t like it he could stick it somewhere rather unpleasant.

\----

Almost two weeks. It'd been nearly two weeks of grinding out mediocre numbers. It wasn't that they were doing poorly, but they weren't doing as well as Cullen and Trev knew they should be to keep this whole operation running another year. Cullen tried not to think about it, but he could feel that cloud over him all the same. It colored every count report after the crabs were sorted, and he couldn't bring himself to be pleased with numbers that were just ok. They needed numbers that were fucking amazing.

Still, things had evened out pretty quickly after that… altercation with Pavus in the galley. If that's what it could be called. Amazing how that one moment of hurt and anger had sealed off what Cullen's will alone couldn't. He still watched out for the man, of course, but for his safety and the safety of the crew rather than any ill-placed flutterings of what if. That ship, so to speak, had sailed.

At least, Cullen could believe it had while he was working. Downtime was another story, and if he let himself think too hard on it, he found there was a twisting sort of pang in his gut and a little voice in him that just wanted to know why. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, considering, so he didn't let himself think on it. He worked. He worked, and when he wasn't working, he stayed with the crew or, if he was tired enough, he slept. He'd gotten one or two comments that he was being awfully social this year, and it _was_ taxing to always be on like that, but it was better than the alternative.

_The only thing confused here is you._

As the hours and days wore on, it got easier, as he knew it would. In retrospect, it had been only two days of… whatever that was. However intense it felt at the time, it'd been well overshadowed first, by the look on Pavus’ face that day and second, by the fact that the man was growing too Maker-damned ballsy. He was testing his limits, of course he was testing them, edging closer and closer while the real work was going on. He was edging into Cullen's circle - the one thing Cullen refused to compromise - and it seemed no amount of telling him to get back or glaring looks would deter him. He'd step back if caught, but before Cullen knew it, there he'd be again.

“Pavus, back.”

“Pavus, you're in the way.”

“Pavus, for the love of Andraste, _move.”_

The man's name was on Cullen's lips more often than anyone else's, and it was infuriating. Infuriating that Cullen's space was being invaded. Infuriating that he couldn't let the man sink to the back of his mind like he wanted. Infuriating that Pavus had _promised._ Whatever strangeness had happened between them, the man had promised, had said he'd stay out of the way.

But here they were.

No one was more happy than Cullen that they were pulling the last few pots before having to go back to unload before the crabs started dying on them. The fishing was decent here, so Trev had them pulling, unloading, sorting, and resetting to let the pots soak while they steamed back to port. The deck was a flurry of activity with all that going on, and Cullen's nerves were on edge, trying to keep an eye on everything and everyone all at once. He was tired. They were _all_ tired to the bone… and tired deckhands made mistakes.

_No rest for the weary._

_\----_

Maker, but Dorian was tired of hearing his fucking name. Cullen sounded like a primary school teacher chastising the class clown, saying his name over and over like that. Sure, he wasn’t quite respecting that ‘circle’ he’d been told about before, but he kept his wits about him. He moved when someone said to move and tried not to get in the way. What else was there? This was his job too. Dorian knew if Cullen had his way he wouldn’t be on deck at all, and possibly put in skiff and floated out into the middle of the ocean so he wouldn’t have to face his shame, but this was his _job_ and he had every right to be on deck as Cullen did for his _job_.

Still, everyone seemed to be happy things were winding down. Personally, Dorian was looking forward to a wash up and lying down with a wet rag over his face to calm the rolling both in his head and through his body. Everything hurt from his heels up his legs to his hips, back, and shoulders, and he just wanted it to end. It was something of a miracle to watch everything unfold on deck, sure, but this was also one of the worst things he’d ever done. Being this sick and sore and tired was... ugh.

So saying, as they waited between pots, Dorian lowered the camera and gagged over the side of the boat a few times before what little water was still left in his stomach came up. It left his throat burning and his legs shaking, but... it was out, and it was better out than in. He wasn’t going to be able to look at a bottle of juice for a long time after all this, he had a feeling, and not want to die a little inside. But thinking about that was better than thinking about how Cullen barked his name like it was a curse in itself. The jerk.

“You okay?” asked a small, tired voice. Alistair. Kind Alistair with his now dim smile, but a smile nonetheless.

Dorian opened his eyes and tried to smile back, “Not at all,” he answered honestly, “but we’re almost done. Then we can both say we made it through the first few strings, right?”

The greenhorn nodded, “Yeah,” and cast a glance back at the others, “just... you know, try to stay out of the deckspace over there. I think Cullen’s mood’s even worse than it was.”

“Fucking insufferable shite,” Dorian muttered under his breath, but nodded, “you go do what you need to do. I’ll... stick around here, I suppose. It’s the most amount of space between he and I right now, and I’m glad for it.”

“Right,” Alistair agreed with a nod and headed back over where Barris was throwing the hook to catch the second to last pot.

Dorian hefted the camera back onto his shoulder, braced himself as the boat rolled and a spray of water hit in nearly square in the face, and set to zooming in on it and what looked to be a nice amount of crab in the trap. It came up to the middle bar, which had the others cheering and laughing, and Dorian started to move in a bit closer so he could get their reactions a bit more clearly.

\----

Well, that was more like it. This pot looked promising - maybe Trev’s strategy of resetting here would work in their favor after all. Cullen allowed himself a moment to stand up straight, roll his shoulders to try and work some of that fire out of them, and take a breath. Hours of standing stooped over the controls had him feeling a bit crooked and cranky, but they were almost done for a while. It was almost time for a long rest before they offloaded at port and turned right back around to do it all again. As closed in as it was, Cullen was looking forward to going to his room and stretching out across his bed and _not moving._

As he bent back over his controls, he caught the sight of that damn cameraman inching ever closer again. Cullen clenched his jaw and waited, steeling himself for the moment Pavus stepped over the line he _said_ he wouldn't cross. It was only a matter of time, but Cullen wouldn't say anything - never said anything - until the man was actually inside the area Cullen had outlined on that first day. Pavus may have gone back on his vow to stay out of the way, but Cullen wouldn't go back on his own to let the man do his job. Provided it was _outside the fucking circle._

\----

While they sorted, Dorian stayed mostly out of the way and elected just to zoom in. He liked seeing them do well. Even Cullen, when Dorian actually looked at him, wore a small smile far better than that scowl that had settled across his lips half the time. He hated the fact that he found the man so handsome despite everything that had been going on. They’d not exchanged ten words other than Cullen’s barking since that moment in the galley and it... hurt. A bit. Those little moments before that had been so nice, and now it was just animosity that made Doran’s stomach ache even worse.

He’d been so tired of people being _ashamed_ of him, so that was something he wasn’t really wanting to deal with.

Slowly, though, he was walking backwards as the pot was lifted off the launcher. Dorian wanted it in the shot over the crew, and he steadily made his way back toward where the giant steel traps were being stacked. It made it easier to follows its path to wherever Cullen, who was on the controls across the deck, put it.

\----

A ghost of a smile played at the corners of Cullen's mouth as he guided the pot into place. The guys were busy sorting and shooting the shit - morale was infinitely improved with decent numbers - and their good mood was infectious. It also helped that all they had was one more pot to pull before they could all just… relax for a while.

Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention though, and Cullen had to do a double take as that little smile slid right off his lips. In the circle. Pavus was in the circle and he was _walking backwards_ , with no idea what was behind him. Unless his goal was to land on his ass after tripping on the coils and lines the crossed the deck just a step behind him, of course.

_Maker preserve me…_

“Pavus!” he barked, “For fuck’s sake, watch where you're going. And _get back_!” His eyes were shooting daggers and he raised both hands to make an emphatic pushing motion away from the machinery and the ropes and his circle. “I've fucking told you a hundred times - stay _out_ of here when we're working.”

\----

_Andraste’s blood._

Dorian set his jaw for that. At this point Cullen’s voice was like the white noise of the water. Just... yelling. Yelling about everything and nothing. Dorian’s name over and over regardless of what he was or wasn’t doing. It didn’t seem to matter. This time, Dorian did pull the camera away from his face and turned to look over his shoulder. As he did so, however, his foot tangled with a bit of line and he went down. Hard.

The camera clattered to the deck, and Dorian let out a sharp cry as his hip collided with the wooden deck. Maker, it hurt. It hurt so bad. Whiteness exploded behind his eyes and tears pooled behind them for a long moment as he tried to remember how to breathe and what life was like before the pain and sickness. Sadly, both of those things won out in that moment and Dorian threw up the bit of toast and water he’d had before.

“Dorian!” was the shout behind him and in an instant there was someone at his side. Alistair, probably, and Dorian reached up a hand to grasp at the one at his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

All he could do was gag again and groan as he was hauled to his feet. The pain was still fucking blinding.

“Come on,” Alistair prompted, and Dorian became aware that someone else was on his other side.

“You finish at the table,” someone said. Barris. “I’ll take him inside. Hand me the camera.”

Pain radiated down his leg and up into his chest, and Dorian just slumped against whoever held him up. It didn’t matter. He just... he just wanted to not be on his feet anymore and went with Barris as he led him inside.

\----

_What a fucking mess._

Cullen watched as the cameraman fell, almost in slow motion. The man went down right on his hip, and Cullen didn't envy him the shock up his spine he surely felt. The first instinct he had was to _move,_ to _help_ , but he had a pot in the air and he couldn't leave his station. Besides, Alistair and Barris were already moving, and anything Cullen did would be extraneous and likely unappreciated.

_Maker’s breath, but I told him. I told him to stay out._

_Serves him right._

But that was that spiteful, mean part of him that still smarted over the look and icy tone Pavus had served him with two weeks ago. And then even that part shut up as the fallen man’s stomach emptied itself of its scant contents. Cullen ground his teeth and scowled at the mess and the little surge of… sympathy he felt at the sight. He shouldn't be feeling that, not now, and it only served to deepen his frustration.

“Everything ok down there?” Trev’s voice came over the loudspeaker. He couldn't have seen Pavus go down, but he probably saw his two deckhands running away from a full sorting table. Cullen nodded at Samson, who raised his hand in a thumbs up to the wheelhouse. Cullen would report in once they were done and on their way back to port.

They were a man down on deck now due to Pavus’ carelessness, but they made do with that last pot. Blackwall was at the hook instead of Barris, and the pot had good numbers when it was pulled and secured. It should have been a good way to end this first run. Cullen _had_ been working on a pretty decent mood… and then this. Now, he was just agitated and tired… and a little vindicated, truth be told.

The last pot was reset and launched back, and Cullen told the men to go rest up. He lingered on deck, grabbing the mop from the ready room and set about cleaning up that mess. It was… well, it was just gross, however little there was - and a good portion looked like it had hit Pavus rather than the deck - but it needed to be done, and the guys deserved a break. One that didn't involve cleaning up vomit, anyway.

Still, he shouldn't _have_ to do this. At this point, no one on the boat should have to do this. If Pavus had just listened in the first place…

As Cullen cleaned, he only grew more aggravated. This whole thing was ridiculous - Pavus had no business on the boat if he was _still_ sick after two weeks. Not just for Cullen's sanity, but for the man's health. How long until he collapsed from dehydration and malnourishment? And then they'd have to shut this whole thing down to head back to port and _shit, wouldn't that be great_. This had to stop. Before they got back, Cullen would talk to Trev about it. He'd given Pavus his two weeks - no one could say he was trying to oust the man just because Cullen didn't like him at this point. They all saw how he stumbled and got sick almost as soon as he was done shooting.

Finally done, Cullen rinsed the mop out and put it away before heading belowdecks where almost everyone was gathered in the galley. It looked like Pavus had gotten himself cleaned up a bit, but he was still shaken. No wonder with how hard he'd hit the deck. Cullen huffed as Alistair fretted over the man like a mother hen. Pavus didn't need to be coddled; he needed a dose of fucking _reality._

“That right there - what just happened - _that's_ why I don't want you in there,” Cullen began as soon as he was in earshot of the man, pointing back up the stairs to the deck and approaching with quick steps. His voice was low and controlled, but there was an undercurrent of steel to it that betrayed his anger and said maybe he could lose that control at any point. “There's _too much_ going on, and apparently, it's a challenge for you to remain _standing.”_

\----

Once he’d gotten inside and had a moment to sort of remind himself that there had been more to his entire life than the pain at his hip and the sickness in him, Dorian had actually managed to brush his teeth and drink something. He still felt pretty bad, and he was already sporting a bruise, but nothing felt out of place or any more hurt than just what the fall was. He’d live. It would be an ugly bruise, but he’d live.

Now, though, it seemed like Alistair wanted to be up close and making sure he was alright. It was sweet, and Dorian did rather like a bit of attention when he felt a bit like shit (not to mention the fact that his pride was a bit wounded since everyone had seen him fall like that), but he didn’t really feel like having everyone buzzing around him and asking how he was. He’d been sick half all over himself just from the sheer drop and pain, and it just... it was a bit much at the moment. Already he’d changed out of his clothes and out of his contacts in the event that he started feeling worse, and was back in the galley trying to drink a bit more water (with far less shaky hands, thank the Maker).

Then, oh and then, there was this bullshit. Dorian was trying incredibly hard to just move on from this. They’d finished their string, he wasn’t in bed moaning, and other than Alistair worrying him a bit, it was more or less handled. He knew there’d be some teasing, he expected that much, but now this shit with Cullen wanting to have the last word? No. The insufferable arsehole had gotten the last word on far too much with his smug face and the constant fucking yelling, and Dorian was _done_. Everyone was there, including Varric and Trev now as food was being finished and breaks were being taken, and while Dorian knew he should be the bigger person and just nod and accept the criticism, he also just couldn’t _take_ the fucker acting like that anymore.

“Don’t even start with me!” Dorian snapped back as he whirled around, “I appreciate that this is _your_ job and that you don’t even fucking want me out there, but this is also _my_ job, and I need to be able to do it without your tyrannical bullshit! _I’m_ doing the best _I_ can with your hundred Maker damned rules out there, and you can’t seem to manage two shits about the fact that I need to do this job just as much as you do.” Grey eyes narrowed and he took a few more steps closer to Cullen, “Whatever the fuck it is that’s apparently got you to be ‘not yourself’ or whatever problem it seems you have with me is something _you_ need to deal with. Because no one else seems to be having nearly the trouble that you are with me being out there.”

At that, Dorian shook his head and pushed past both Cullen and then Alistair toward the staterooms. Behind him, he could hear the ‘ooh’s' and the rest of the crew getting their two cents in about it, but he couldn’t stand to listen to it. As it was, Dorian could hardly see for the anger he was feeling, and he ducked into the first empty room he could find just to have a moment of fucking peace about the whole thing.

\----

_Oh. Oh FUCK no._

Amber eyes blazed, and Cullen drew himself to his full height and crossed his arms when Pavus whirled on him and started his little… tantrum. A toothy grin spread across Cullen's face, though there was no humor in it and his eyes flashed dangerously. If this was how the man really wanted to play this out, Cullen was game. More than fucking game. He had a few things he wanted to say to the man himself… and by the time Pavus said his piece, the word _bullshit_ was at the top of the list. 100 rules? Tyrannical? Ha. It was laughable, and Cullen actually barked a laugh and shook his head, smiling that smile that was more like a snarl the whole time. The man might as well be stamping his feet and screwing his eyes shut and shouting _it's not faaaaiiiiir_ for how much he reminded Cullen of his 4 year old nephew throwing a tantrum.

And then Pavus ran. Of course he did. Probably to feel like he got the last word or for the drama of stomping away, but Cullen saw retreat. He saw retreat, but Cullen wasn't done. Not by a long shot.

The jabs of the crew went unheard, and Trev’s attempt to hold him back went unheeded as Cullen stomped off after Pavus. This wasn't over, oh no.

But when Cullen rounded the corner, the hallway was empty. _Where the fuck did he go?_ He didn't have enough time to get to his bunk, unless he sprinted, and Cullen highly doubted that considering the limp in the man's step. A noise from within Cullen's room caught his attention then, and that feral smile became a scowl as Cullen clenched his teeth and opened the door.

_No. No he can't be in there. That's my space. That's for me only._

“Out!” he bellowed as his eyes fell on the man standing in _his_ room. He stomped into the room and circled around Pavus, meaning to herd him out the door. He raised an arm and pointed to the door, jabbing his finger out for emphasis. “Add another rule to the _one_ I gave you - the one you promised to follow, by the way - because you can't fucking be in here.”

\----

Maker, it would have been Cullen’s room he ended up in. Both hands lifted in surrender, “Maker help me, it’s the only fucking quiet place on this boat!” Dorian shook his head and took a step to leave. At this point, he just wanted it to be over. He wanted the yelling to be over and this weird standoff bullshit they had going to be over. The hot and cold thing was bad enough, but now this was all but outright fucking antagonistic. Yes, he’d maybe been a bit in the way but this was ridiculous.

“I’m sorry, alright?” Dorian hissed, “Just... you’re not the only one off your game for whatever fucking reason.” He paused in the doorway, one hand on the knob to pull it shut behind him, but instead Dorian shut the door and whirled back around to point at Cullen, “And you _really_ need to stop fucking yelling unless you want this picked up by the other mics and this shit ends up in the show, do you understand me?” his voice was quiet now and he moved to get up into Cullen’s face, “You are _mic-ed_ as it is,” he went on in that same steely tone Cullen had used before, “So fucking _think_ about that before you start in on me again, you brute!”

\----

Cullen cocked and eyebrow and tilted his head to the side, jaw set and teeth grinding as he pulled the mic from his shirt and unclipped the little battery pack from his belt. He pulled the whole thing up and deliberately switched it off so Pavus could see. The mic and battery was tossed onto the bed as Cullen rounded on the infuriating man standing in his room once more.

“Well there it is, isn't it?” he started through clenched teeth. His tone was held in check, barely, though it dropped none of the anger it had held before. “You think you're better than me - than all this,” he went on, waving his hand to indicate the entirety of the boat. “You wouldn’t even fucking be here if you weren't desperate. All I've done is keep my word to let you do your job and try to keep you and everyone else safe,” Cullen hissed, pressing forward. “ _You've_ broken yours every day, getting in the way and moving where you said you wouldn't - which is the only time… the _only time_ I've stopped you short.” He shook his head and set his jaw, voice growing colder, “I've held up my end… but _I'm_ the brute here… I guess that _is_ all someone like you would see, isn't it? Some low class _brute_ fisherman you have to survive to get your check.”

\----

“No,” Dorian hissed, “you’re a brute because you’re getting in my face and fucking _yelling_ at me.” He glared back up into those amber eyes, “And... I don’t think I’m better than you at all, alright? You’re the one treating _me_ like I’m something to be ashamed of,” he argued, “and like you’re so Maker damned high and mighty because you do this job and I’m just the guy on the camera getting in _your_ way.”

One hand lifted, and Dorian poked Cullen in the chest as hard as he could manage to at least keep up the appearance of his rapidly dwindling strength, “You... just...  _Maker,_ you’re insufferable, did you know that? First you hate me, then you ask me to breakfast and flirt with me, then you hate me again, then you’re on the deck and you’re flirting with me _again,_ and then you run like I fucking burned you or something, then you... it’s just insufferable, alright? Completely. I’m sorry I screwed up your rules, but you deserved it, alright? I’ve got the fucking bruise on my hip for my trouble, and your entire crew watched me throw up all over myself from it. It won’t happen again. Is that what you want to hear?”

Now Dorian’s voice was raising, then he frowned and shook his head again, “oh, wait. You want _honesty_ , don’t you? Fucking _honesty_? I’ll not get in your way again, and Maker help me it’s hard because I _really_ wanted you to kiss me that night!”

\----

Hearing how he'd acted those first few days put so… succinctly was difficult, and suddenly that comment in the galley about being confused made sense, considering how it had apparently looked to the man. But he'd had to do that to… to keep that line, to keep that distance secure each time he'd slipped. He'd apologized for that - for his behavior and for making things confusing, didn't he? He did, and Pavus had thrown it back in his face. But _Cullen_ was insufferable. He felt himself gearing up to say as much, and that finger poking him in the chest only served to fuel his indignation.

But then… _I really wanted you to kiss me._

What the fuck was there to say to that? Cullen's frown turned into something halfway between anger and pain as his shoulders dropped and he realized just how close they were… and how part of him was reaching out to the man even now.

“I'm tired of this shit. I’m tired of the nasty looks and the fucking bickering. I'm tired of trying to do my job, trying to be _normal_ when you're there, like an ice pick in my brain I can't pull out. I'm tired of the way I always know where you are and what you're doing, at the expense of everything else. I’m tired of worrying about you when you're sick, but not being able to do anything about it. I'm tired of… I'm tired of having to try so Maker-damned hard to hate you because hating you is about the only thing keeping me from…” A strangled, choking sound escaped Cullen’s throat as he fought with himself. His breath hitched and his mouth twitched as tried to control a wave of emotion that had become much more than simple anger. “.... f-fuck,” he stuttered and his body moved before his mind did, fingers tangling into Dorian's shirt as he pushed into the man. They slammed into the door, but Cullen only pushed harder, his lips pressing hungrily against Dorian's as he finally gave in and just let that wave take him.

\----

His back hitting the door almost knocked the breath out of him, but suddenly there were warm lips on his and scratchy stubble brushing against his face. Grey eyes widened behind his glasses as they were unceremoniously pressed up against his face and an actual wall of solid, strong body was up against his. For a second he’d thought Cullen had pushed him, had... hit him maybe, but no.

Dorian’s elbows knocked against the door behind him as his brain tried, stupidly, to catch up to what was going on. Thankfully, however, instinct clicked over and one hand lifted to grip at the red knit cap Cullen always wore over a mop of blond curls, and the other tangled in the sleeve of his shirt. Yes, this had been what he wanted. He wanted that hungry, almost primal kind of kiss, and now he had it and everything else was far, far away. He didn’t feel sick, the pain in his body didn’t exist, and he pulled Cullen closer so he could kiss the other man back just as hard.

This fucking insufferable man that Dorian was far too aware of and was made completely mad by. This... Maker, he set off every nerve in Dorian’s body with his yelling and his glaring and his warm hands and sometimes very gentle and caring demeanor, and Dorian wanted to hate him, but he just couldn’t. The memory of that smile on deck and the almost shyness he seemed to have about him certainly softened the monster that Dorian so often thought of him as. He’d wanted to, wanted to just hate Cullen and think him to be someone who used him for company when he wanted it, only to hate him a moment later for it. Maybe he still would, but it didn’t _matter_ just now. Nothing else mattered.

The hand wrapped in red wool clamped down and Dorian tossed it away so he could get his fingers tangled in those loose curls and he practically growled into Cullen’s mouth as he pulled the man in closer. More. He just... he wanted more. He wanted those warm hands to soothe the aches and that rather adorable Fereldan lilt to joke with him softly like they’d done for a brief moment here and there. He wanted more of those warm lips on his own and how Cullen tasted both like cheap, sweet coffee and wind and salt and it made Dorian’s stomach nearly fall out of him to the sea floor however many miles under the boat. It was like an electricity storm in his head, and he kissed Cullen until he was actively having to make the choice between stopping and breathing.

The decision was, unfairly enough, difficult to make.

\----

_Maker, yes._

Every nerve in Cullen's body was on fire as he felt Dorian's hands on him. Everything fell away as Cullen’s body answered the command _more_ , _yes, more of this._ He felt everything - the softness of the shirt twisted in his hands, the line of warmth pressed along his body, the way Dorian's mustache tickled, the softness of his lips. It was everything he was fighting against this whole time, but everything he needed, and now he just greedily wanted _all of it._

The line was forgotten. That distance was meaningless. There was no leadership dynamic to fret over. They were just two men, two men and _something_ that could be… good. Maker, it could be fucking fantastic if the way Dorian was practically growling into Cullen's mouth was an indicator.

But beyond that attraction, beyond this kiss, Dorian had sparked an interest, had seemed to be more than Cullen saw at first. He'd made Cullen laugh, had made him drop his guard before he even knew what was happening. Just as much as Cullen wanted more out of that kiss, he'd wanted more of the man himself - to get to know him and find out who he was under the image he gave off - before all that stupid fucking fighting and _working_ to dislike had gotten in the way. Just the fact that he'd had to work like that should have told him enough.

For now… for now, though, he was lost in that kiss. At least, until necessity forced him to breathe. Reluctantly, he pulled away, and his mind tried to engage. There was a heat on his cheeks, and he took a few breaths to steady himself. “.... I don't… I don't hate you,” he finally managed, voice soft in the aftermath of all that emotion and eyes not quite meeting those of the man he was still pressed against. “I'm… I'm deck boss and you're working on my boat. I'm not supposed to… there's a line,” he tried to explain. Out loud, it sounded ridiculous, but considering what just happened… Cullen didn't want Dorian thinking he hated him. He didn't, not even before when they were in the thick of it and yelling. That had been, well, misdirected emotion. Fighting to dislike the man so he could keep up the appearance of space in his own mind. “However I acted, that's why. I just… it's been a long time and I didn't know how to deal with it. Still don't, to tell you the truth.” Amber eyes raised hesitantly to meet grey. After that kiss, it seemed silly to be… shy right now, but that surely didn't stop him from feeling it.

\----

His breath was coming in short little pants for how hard Cullen had kissed him, and while the other man pulled away a bit so they could both breathe, Dorian didn’t quite let go of the man’s sleeve or his hair. Genuinely, he didn’t want to move that far away. If he moved away there was that little pit of fear in his stomach that they might go back to yelling at one another. Dorian couldn’t quite risk that yet.

“That would have been really helpful information a week ago, you know,” Dorian teased after a few breaths and managed a small chuckle. It wasn’t a criticism, not really, not after a kiss like that. Still, it was good to know that all that weirdness was coming from... not shame. Concern. Shyness, even. Not that Dorian was very good with lines like that, but he could deal with that better than thinking Cullen was ashamed of his attraction. At least this was workable, and perhaps Dorian’s own attraction wasn’t misplaced then. Having a crush on a straight man, at least in his experience, only ended in frustration for all parties involved.

Dorian licked his lips then let go of Cullen’s shirt just long enough to fix his glasses, “I don’t hate you either,” he managed after another breath, “and... you’re hardly a brute. I didn’t mean that.” Grey eyes searched those rather beautiful amber ones, and Dorian ruffled those soft curls, “I’m... sorry I broke our deal. I won’t do it again. Not on purpose, anyway.”

Something was squeezing in his chest, though, and the hand that had abandoned Cullen’s sleeve moved so he could brush his palm over one stubbled cheek. After these few weeks the hair on the other man’s jaw and face was actually softer than it looked and Dorian cupped his hand there to keep Cullen from moving too far away. “And I might’ve jumped to a few unfair conclusions, so…” he breathed before he leaned up and kissed those soft lips again in a much more gentle, yet still rather greedy kind of kiss, “forgiven now. Next, um, string we can work _together_ instead of fighting it. Hopefully.”

\----

That palm against his cheek was soothing, calming the raw nerves that still hadn't settled from the fight before and the kiss that followed. Cullen closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, content for now, as a weight was lifted from his shoulders. He didn't have to be frustrated any more. He didn't have to force an enmity that deep down, he didn't really feel. That whole time, when he was so angry, he was really angry with himself. It didn't have to be that way any more, and that was a freeing feeling.

Amber eyes opened and Cullen breathed a little chuckle. “I think… I think we're _both_ guilty of making assumptions.” He raised a hand to run fingers tentatively down the line of Dorian's jaw. His skin was soft and smooth and felt right beneath Cullen's calloused fingertips. “Let's… try this again, maybe.” He offered up a lopsided smile before adding, “Third time’s a charm… or so I hear.”

Still, for as relieved and content as he felt right now, he knew this didn't solve the problem of that line. He was… he was scared: of letting someone in, of distraction, of making the same mistakes he'd made in the past. His eyes darted to the hand resting on Dorian’s neck, to the word he'd had tattooed on the inside of his wrist after everything went south - _Memoria._ No, he couldn't just forget what had happened before in his past life with the Templars… but maybe he could learn from it? Either way, the fighting had been exhausting, and he was glad to be done with it. He'd just have to take everything else as it came.

He chuckled again and smiled a little wider this time, cheeks flushed pink. “We should, ah… we should get back out there. Before they send someone in for us.” The hand resting on Dorian’s neck rose to work fingers into the base of Cullen's skull as he rolled his eyes. “They're gonna be curious… worse than gossiping teenagers, this lot. I'd be surprised if Samson wasn't keeping watch for us at the end of the hall right now.”

\----

“I figure they’ll expect one of us to come out with a bloody nose or lip after that little display,” Dorian sighed and reached down to grab the mic pack off Cullen’s bed, “let’s get this back on, at least. Here, turn around.”

It only took a moment for Dorian to get the microphone set back up and clipped into Cullen’s clothes, though he did take a moment to press his hands into the other man’s back. He just wanted that closeness for a moment longer, and Dorian leaned in and kissed Cullen’s cheek before he took a step back and gave him the thumbs up to head back out.

Maker help them both after that fight. His own hands were still shaking with adrenaline, and actually another few moments somewhere quiet would have been really nice. Alas, it seemed they would go out to eat and probably recount their little spat all over again.

\----

Cullen was very aware of the light brush of fingertips through the fabric of his shirt as Dorian helped him with his mic… and then those hands pressing into his back ignited thoughts of fingers kneading in deeper and Cullen closed his eyes for just a moment to allow it to pass. Maker, but this man just… got to him.

The little peck on his cheek was simple and sweet, the polar opposite of what they'd been doing, and amber eyes opened as Cullen turned to flash a shy smile at Dorian. He didn't know what came next, outside of fielding questions about who hit whom first - the guys would be sorely disappointed - but for now, he just hoped they could actually come to an understanding and make _something_ work from this. Even if it was to agree that what just happened wouldn't happen again, at least the fighting and sourness would be behind them. And, Maker, maybe the could be… _friends_.

Cullen put his hand on the doorknob after Dorian's little thumbs up, but he hesitated. He was loathe to walk away, yes, but even more, there was something else he wanted to say first. The hand on the doorknob left it and reached behind him to turn off the mic once again.

“Pa…,” he started and shook his head. Whatever came, the man wasn't _Pavus_ any more. That had been a strategy to make things less personal, less close. It was neither necessary nor desired any longer. “Dorian, I _am_ sorry… that… that you got hurt, and for the way I acted. I shouldn't have.” He wanted to say more, but there wasn't time, even if he could make sense of the cyclone of thoughts spinning in his head. So, he smiled that shy little smile again, a tinge of blush lingering on his cheeks and continued, “Just… I'm sorry.”

\----

That was actually quite nice. Dorian rather liked that shy kind of smile, and that little apology helped to soothe the last of the aches he felt. Well, that wasn’t actually true. Dorian was going to hurt for a while, was bruised up all along his arms and now there was going to be a huge one on his hip, but those words did sort of help. They massaged his pride a little, anyway.

“Well, you did tell me to move,” he pointed out and took a step forward to rest a hand on Cullen’s back, “I should have listened. We should all be thankful it’ll just be a rather impressive bruise and not something worse.” Dorian smiled then and rubbed that hand along Cullen’s spine for a quick moment before he pulled back, “now... I think I could use something to drink. And _someone_ , not naming names, promised to make me some tea. Maybe he’ll finally make good on his offer.”

The roll of Cullen’s eyes and soft groan had Dorian grinning, and they headed back out. True to form, Samson was waiting at the end of the hall, and when they emerged with no blood or extra bruises he’d cocked his eyebrow. Clearly, they’d heard the _thump_ of Dorian being backed into the door, but... no fight. No more yelling. Now they were standing beside one another like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You two, ah... work it out, then?” Samson asked, “again?”

“More or less,” Dorian answered, and cast a small smile up at Cullen before he pushed past both him and Samson to the kitchen.

Samson turned to watch him go, then looked back at Cullen, “Well, good job not killing him. I’m surprised.”

Hopefully now they could actually make this work.


	9. Sea Legs [1 of 4]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Dorian reflect on what happened after their fight and what it might mean for the rest of the season.

It was almost a strange feeling to be on the boat with little to do. Usually, the guys were rushing back and forth, working on deck, and there was always the flurry of things needing to get done to sort of keep things from ever being _quiet_. Dorian missed even just a few minutes of quiet when he was in the thick of it all because the deck was a loud place with the metal and the water and the shouting and the... everything. Inside, it was all laughter and voices, and sometimes, it made him want to bury his head in a pillow.

Now? Now it was quiet. They were on the way back to town to drop off what was in their tanks for an early processing date, and after he and Cullen had re-emerged after their fight... and those kisses, things had settled back into the usual din of eating and coming down off all the adrenaline. It also meant everyone had retired to bed for a few hours, so the galley and common area was, blessedly, silent.

Dorian had gone to bed when everyone else had, save Cullen who had been sent up to the wheelhouse while Trev had a four hour nap, but he didn’t really sleep. He dozed, slept hard for ten or fifteen minutes at a time, but the constant motion of the boat was less relaxing than he thought it might be once upon a time. That, and every time he rolled over his now incredibly bruised hip sent out a flare of pain that woke him from that sound sleep. In the berth beside him, though, Varric snored almost in time with the rocking and Dorian just... ugh, he couldn’t handle it now that he was awake. So he got up.

Despite the pain in his hip that radiated down his leg, he managed to get back out to the common area and make a pot of coffee that wasn’t so thick a spoon could stand up in it. He tossed a pinch of salt and another pinch of cinnamon into the grounds, too, to help cut some of the acidity of the economy sized and economy brand coffee they bought. It helped, as did the fact that there wasn’t so much coffee in the percolator that the water couldn’t actually run through it. It was warm, anyway, and that was what mattered most for now. Dorian wrapped his hands around the cup and sipped slowly. His stomach had settled, for the most part, but he still took it mostly slow.

“What’re you doing up?” asked a voice from the hallway, and Trev appeared a second later. His ginger hair was mussed and his eyes were tired, but he was smiling. “I figured you’d be out til we got in,” he teased, “still... sick?”

“No,” Dorian waved a hand, “nothing like that. Varric snores.”

Trev chuckled, “Ah, yeah. I roomed with a guy for a while who snored like a freight train. I think I ended up sleeping in the hall on the floor half the time.”

“And how did that work for you?”

“Well, there’s a reason I’ve got a room to myself now,” Trev teased back and poured himself a cup of coffee before he grinned at Dorian and headed back upstairs.

When he got up to the wheelhouse, Trev rested a hand on Cullen’s shoulder, “Go to bed,” he told him, “I don’t want to see you for a while.”

\----

It was late, and Cullen was tired, but he always liked being in the wheelhouse like this, when everyone else was down for a rest and it was just him and his thoughts in the soft glow of the nav computers and other controls. Usually, he tended to let his mind drift where it would in an effort to just clear out all the stress from long hours on deck, but tonight was unsurprisingly a bit different. His thoughts were honed to a precise point and aimed at one person. Dorian, of course he was thinking of Dorian, and he found himself caught in the bizarre ebb and flow of _ok, whatever that was cleared the tension. Let's just move forward_ and _Maker, he kissed me back. He kissed me back, and when can we do that again?_ Cullen was stuck between that same sense of propriety and, if he was being honest, fear that had caused everything to come to a head earlier and a giddy energy that made him grin and blush in the dark like a boy with his first crush.

This was new territory for him, uncharted waters, and he felt a bit rudderless. There was no context for what was happening, and there wasn't a chance to really talk about it before the rest of the crew descended upon them with their questions and teasing. No time to speak before Trev had retired to bed and Cullen had to go up to the wheelhouse. At the time, he'd been… swept away. Euphoric. Now that he'd had time to think on his own, he didn't know what it meant, if anything, or what it would change.

Or if, Dorian willing, it would become something more.

_Should it, though? That kiss hasn't changed the fact that he's working on your boat._

But before he'd get too far down that line of thought, he'd remember the heat behind that kiss, the urgency in their embrace, and his body would go all loose as that grin resurfaced and the whole thing started again.

The sound of someone approaching interrupted that cycle, though, and Cullen looked at the clock. _Maker, has it been four hours already?_

When Trev addressed him, he pushed back from the console and spun the chair around to face him. “I'm not sure if that's a thinly veiled insult or not, but I can definitely oblige,” Cullen said with a smile before rolling his shoulders and stretching out. “Nothing to report here. Fair weather and easy seas. Well, as easy as they get out here, anyway.”

\----

“And no falling asleep at the wheel. I’m so proud,” Trev chuckled as he took a drink from his cup then looked back down at it with an eyebrow raised. It was only for a moment, and he shook his head before he looked back up to study Cullen’s tired face, “Uh... before you head back, though, are you okay? You were pretty pissed off before, and you two had said you worked something out. Did that not pan out?”

Trev took his seat back up again, though he turned around so he could face his deck boss, “What I’m asking is, should I be worried? Because I can’t have you two scrapping at one another like that. Even if he’s not technically one of ours, you know?”

\----

“Am I ok?” Cullen repeated with a chuckle. “Ah… yes. What we'd, uh, worked out before,” he started before he cleared his throat nervously, “uh, it didn't work out, so to speak.” Maker, wasn't _that_ the truth. “But no, you don't have to worry about any ‘scrapping’. That's… as far as I can tell, that's over.”

Which was also the truth. Cullen didn't like being evasive, had never worked well in subterfuge. It made him uncomfortable, and he hoped his captain would be satisfied with that and wouldn't press for… details.

\----

“So you didn’t hit him or anything?” Trev asked a bit more seriously, “he didn’t look like it, and it didn’t look like he took a swing at you either, but Samson said he heard something crash into the door. Nothing like that, right?”

\----

The wheelhouse felt much warmer all of a sudden as Cullen considered just what he should tell his captain about what had happened. He didn't want to lie, Trev would see through that, anyway… but he also didn't want to say anything about what had happened before Cullen fully understood it himself. He fought to find some middle ground.

“No, Trev, I wasn't gonna _hit_ the guy. I mean, I was mad, but you know me better than that.” So far so good. “And Samson… escalates things, you know that. If anything, he heard Dorian close the door. He didn't exactly do it gently.” He paused there. That was as close to a lie as he'd ever told Trev, but Cullen really didn't know what it was Samson supposedly heard. Maybe it _was_ just the door closing. _Right, Cullen. You keep telling yourself that._ “Just,” he continued, “You know that moment where you realize what you're doing is just… ridiculous? I think we hit that moment at the same time. We talked. There were apologies. It, ah… it won't happen again. Promise this time.”

\----

Trev studied Cullen for a long moment. He didn’t say anything, just watched, and after a while he let out a breath and nodded, “Alright,” he answered, “but that’s the last of it. If I find out you two are at it again I’m going to have actually do something about it. I don’t want to, but we can’t have you guys fighting or whatever it is. if it got patched up, though... good. I’m glad.”

The captain shrugged and took another drink of his coffee, “He’s down in the galley, just so you know. In case you need to... I don’t know, whatever. But he’s down there. So you know.”

\----

“Oh, it's patched,” Cullen replied, relieved that Trev wasn't pressing further. He stretched then, joints and muscles complaining after having been still for so long. “Thanks for letting me know he's down there,” he added and couldn't help the heat that came to his face. “Anyway… the helm is yours,” he said, “Keep us floating, captain.” Cullen yawned then and turned away as Trev got settled. That went… as well as it could have, really. He'd walked a thin line there for a moment, but it passed, and he was no worse for the wear.

Outside, the sky was cloudless and the night air was bracing - Cullen had half a mind to stay outside and have a smoke, but… Dorian was awake and in the galley, maybe alone. This could be Cullen's chance to figure some things out, to start really getting to know the man, and to see if he could navigate being a deck boss and a… well, a friend. Maybe.

The stairs were dark, but the light from the galley gave him enough to see by as he made his way downstairs. It was no surprise that his stomach was fluttering and his heart was thumping in his chest - he'd spent four hours thinking of the man he was about to see, wondering what he'd say when they next spoke… whether he felt the same.

Down in the galley, Dorian was indeed alone, and Cullen thanked the Maker for small miracles. He was tired, would be even more tired tomorrow if he didn't get to sleep, but this was important and time alone was hard to come by on a tiny ship. “Hi,” he greeted with a soft and unsure voice, “Trouble sleeping?”

Well, he had to start somewhere, didn't he?

\----

After Trev had headed out, Dorian couldn’t help but just look down into his coffee and let his mind wander. It went a few ways at first: how much his hip hurt, how tired he was but couldn’t sleep, how much he missed a real bed, how warm the cup in his hands was. Then: Cullen’s warm hand wrapped around his on deck, then the feeling of that solid chest pressed up against his own while Cullen’s mouth practically stole his air. That was where his thoughts settled, and something between an amused smirk and a rather shy kind of smile touched Dorian’s face.

The man had been insufferable. They’d scrapped like five year olds in someone’s garden over... what? Territory? Something else? Something that left them both working hard to maintain some sort of dislike (though, really, the yelling had helped make that easy) and rational reason why he would completely ignore the very simple and necessary rules he’d been given. Something about Cullen made Dorian want to push all those boundaries, for whatever reason, and it had come to a head in that stateroom where Dorian was  genuinely a bit regretful that he hadn’t tackled Cullen to the bed.

But now... what? They’d kissed, and it had been one of the best kisses Dorian could remember ever having, but what did they do with it? They were work colleagues, after all, and Dorian knew that mixing business and pleasure like that was a quick way to screw up a lot of things. Cullen had been right about that line, Dorian understood that, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t get a little thrill down his spine knowing that every time he looked at Cullen now he’d know what the other man tasted like. So whatever they did, however they dealt with it, he would at least have that.

The sound of another voice shook him from his thoughts, and Dorian’s head lifted so he could blink behind his glasses in Cullen’s direction. “Hey,” he greeted back, and shrugged a bit, “Varric’s... snoring.” Dorian shook his head and rolled his eyes a bit, “And I couldn’t really get comfortable so I figured it might be better to come out here than lie there and suffer.”

And there Cullen was, all soft lines from sleepiness and those curls poking out from under that cap that Dorian knew the remembered texture of under his fingers. Without all the rain gear on and dressed comfortably, Cullen looked very much like someone Dorian would have loved to curl up on the couch with until sleep finally took them both. That fuzzy jumper and his warm strength was almost too much to ignore, if he was honest with himself.

“Headed for bed now?” he asked before he nodded toward the wheelhouse steps, “Trev got his beauty nap in?”

\----

“Not for a bit,” Cullen answered, though his body wasn't exactly happy with that statement. He looked Dorian over - the man looked as tired as Cullen felt, and that was saying something. But there was something about his hair, all mussed and fluffy that was… cute, and his fingers twitched wanting to see if it was as soft as it looked. _Maker, stop it._ Still, undone as Dorian had become… it was a far cry from the way he'd boarded the boat a few weeks back, all done up and not a hair out of place… Cullen _liked_ it. Dorian was… a beautiful man either way, but this was nice. Endearing, despite the tiredness in eyes framed by glasses that Cullen was only just now noticing, which only served to enhance the feeling that maybe that image Dorian had been keeping up had dropped a little, and Cullen was seeing the man under all that.

The big man offered a bashful little smile before moving to mix up a cup of coffee for himself. As he poured in plenty of cream, he called over his shoulder, “I, ah, I thought it might be good to talk. If… if you're not too tired that is.”

Maker, it was the middle of the night, and Dorian probably wasn't used to these hours. It might not be the best time, strictly speaking.

\----

“Not too tired to talk,” he answered as he picked up his cup to sip from it. Maker, but that shy little smile was going to be the death of him. Tired Cullen was quite cute, so much softer than the man Dorian had seen on deck. He was... well, it was nice.

He rested his chin on his hand and watched the other man as he poured his coffee, “though I might be a bit more willing if there’s something sweet to nibble on as well. I know there’s some chocolate chip cookies hiding somewhere.”

\----

A half-snorted chuckle escaped scarred lips for that. “Usually, one says _please_ when they're asking for something,” he teased gently as he poked around in the pantry for a package of cookies. Unlike the coffee, those were at least a recognizable brand. Why the guys choose to skimp on the coffee but not the junk food was beyond Cullen, but he made do. Still, it was heartening that Dorian felt up to something other than the bland toast and soda crackers that had somehow sustained him this whole time. Cookies didn't exactly pack a nutritional punch, but they were a start. Maybe this whole seasickness thing was turning around and there'd be fewer… incidents on deck. _Wouldn't that be nice?_

He grabbed his cup and hesitated, eyeballing the pot of coffee. Not much left - enough for a few top offs - so he grabbed that, too. At the table, Cullen set everything down and refilled Dorian's cup before he sat down across from the man and opened the pack of cookies. “Dinner is served,” he said with a wry smile, waving a hand at the cookies between them.

And now… well, Cullen had asked to talk, hadn't he? He knew they needed to, and soon, but now that it was time, he wasn't sure how to start. A long draw from his cup of coffee served as an opportunity to think, and the warm drink was bolstering - it soothed some of those nerves that had settled in. This felt more than a little like the first time his eyes had settled on someone in a way that was a bit more than polite interest, way back when he was new and in high school. His hands shook a little and his knee started bobbing now just like it had then, and he had to laugh at himself. _Maker, am I an adult or a giddy teenager?_

In matters of _interest_ , Cullen didn't have a lot of experience. There'd been a few relationships when he was younger, of course, and a sort of… well, not a romantic relationship, but at the very least an affectionate one… a bit later, but nothing had been like _this_. It left him a little deflated and unsure. But they had to figure this out. Things couldn't go back to the way they were even a few hours ago. Not now that he saw Dorian in a new light. No, that wasn't right… he'd seen him like this before, which had caused Cullen to bristle and run and build walls. Stripped of that guard, all that was left was what he'd seen the night of the aurora - an intriguing, witty, devastatingly handsome man who had surprised him and who possessed a soul that was maybe a match for his own. He didn't know for sure… but now he wanted to.

First things first, though, they had to work together. They had to maintain a certain separation so neither of them would fail their duties. Neither of them could afford to jump into this headlong.

And so, the talking. Thank the Maker he'd taken off his mic and left it in his room before heading up to the wheelhouse. This wasn't a side of him he wanted to share with anyone… except Dorian, apparently.

“I wanted to… we didn't get a chance to talk earlier,” he finally started, rolling his mug between his hands for want of something to do with them. “Things between us… they haven't been great. And that's partly… or mostly... my fault.” Amber eyes were trained on Dorian's hands, noticing for the first time how elegant those fingers were and just watching them move as the man took cookies and sipped from his cup. Even in the mundane, the man had a grace and ease about him that had always escaped Cullen. In contrast, Cullen had always been big and awkward, a bull in a china shop for his lack of subtlety and social graces… including now as he plowed right on ahead.

“I was… overzealous maybe in my effort to keep you at arm's length. I don't… I don't want to go back to that. But that doesn't mean… Look,” he continued, jaw working, “Clearly, I have a… a _thing_ for you. But there's hardly room for something like that here.” Maker, that sounded more final than he'd meant it to, and he scrambled to soften the statement, “At least not without… rules. Which I know you're quite fond of.” He cleared his throat, a healthy blush gracing his cheeks, and his hand went to the back of his neck as he forced himself to make eye contact. “Assuming you do, too. Have a thing for me, I mean. I can't imagine why you would, but just in case… rules would be good.”

_Maker, shut up._

\----

That wasn’t at all what Dorian had expected to come out of Cullen’s mouth. Something like it, sure, but not like this. He listened to what Cullen had to say, listened well and paid attention despite how tired and sore he felt, and when the man was done Dorian tipped his head to the side and just studied his face for a long moment. The man was painfully sincere, sweet when he had the space and the time to be, and it did take a bit of rewiring his brain to come to terms with that against the shouting, angry man he’d seen these last couple of weeks. It was a good kind of rewiring, however. Dorian could have done with more of that.

“Cullen, it wasn’t your fault,” Dorian told him just as honestly as the man had been with him, “this isn’t exactly a normal ‘we met at work’ kind of situation. If you had a desk across from mine it would be one thing, but this... I think maybe we both tried to handle it in ways that didn’t work, and it’s not anyone’s fault. So don’t think that, alright?”

The truth of the matter was that attraction was easy. It was easy to look at someone and want them: for a night, for a week, maybe a month. There was no harm in looking at someone and seeing something nice or pretty about them. Arguably, there wasn’t much wrong with a kiss. What came after the kiss, though, the possible attraction to the person as a _person_ and not just as someone pretty was where things got complicated. It wasn’t that Dorian was against it, not at all, it was just that he didn’t have a lot of experience in the realm of something coming from all that and it being... well, healthy? Not disappointing? Worthwhile?

And now Cullen had a ‘thing’ for him. That was accurate. That was probably the most accurate anyone had ever been about a situation like this before. Cullen had a ‘thing’ for Dorian, and Dorian had a ‘thing’ for Cullen. It was sweetly put, glossed over some of the more ‘not safe for work’ details, and still managed to cover a lot of things that other words couldn’t. Dorian, surely, didn’t know _what_ kind of thing he had for Cullen, but he knew he had something. He could appreciate that.

But stipulations on a relationship? Rather, stipulations and rules on something that wasn’t _even_ a relationship? He’d been given caveats for affection before, rules about how and when and where, and it never really sat well with him. Then again, that had come from a place of not wanting to be known in public out of shame. What Cullen was suggesting, and who and why no one should know, came from a practical point of view. They worked together. They also practically lived together. There were six other men in very close proximity who might not like their relationship.

They needed rules. Even if this didn’t continue, they needed a reasonable boundary.

“Rules would be good,” he answered with a nod after a long moment, “but I think they might be pretty simple, don’t you think? Not in front of anyone, no preferential treatment on deck, possibly not at all while on the boat for everyone’s comfort and safety, that kind of thing.”

Yes, rules. Dorian could do rules. Except now the only worry was that yes, they’d admitted to ‘having a thing’ for one another but now they basically had to ignore it until... what? Shore leave? If that?

\----

Cullen opened his mouth to reply, but promptly closed it again. He'd thought there was a chance Dorian would fight the idea of more rules or, Maker help him, that the man would laugh at him for thinking something between them could be possible. What he'd gotten though was reassurance and… _agreement._ His eyebrows lifted as the implication set in - _he does feel something_. The very idea… he'd _hoped,_ he didn't know how much he'd actually hoped for something like that until now, but it was still… strange. Good. Very good. But strange, nonetheless.

And Cullen wasn't sure if that made any of this easier or harder.

“Simple,” he finally said with a nod, though none of this was _simple_. “Simple is best. If there's anything like… before… it would be best off camera and not around the guys. You need your job and this,” he went on, gesturing to the boat, “This is the only thing I'm good for, so I need mine.”

Well, that was maybe presumptuous of him - that there'd be any more of those kisses, as much as he might want them. He rolled his shoulders to work some of the fire out of them and shook his head. “Though there doesn't _have_ to be more of that. I would, though… I’d like to maybe do more of this? Talking. Getting to know you. That sort of thing. Maker, who knows… maybe we could actually be friends.” He finished, a slight tease in his voice and a twinkle in his eye. Two days ago… 6 hours ago… the very thought would have been preposterous, but he'd been doing some impressive mental acrobatics to make it so.

\----

“Friends don’t kiss their friends like _that_ ,” Dorian pointed out with a small smile. It also stung, just a bit, to hear Cullen call it ‘friends’ because that felt like a brush off. Then again, they couldn’t exactly get cozy in the galley with cameras and people around. They just couldn’t. It was a fact.

Friends... he didn’t have a lot of those either. Boyfriends or otherwise.

Slowly, Dorian reached a hand out to rest it over Cullen’s, “but I’d like that, I think. Friends. Friends that... are entirely enamoured, but friends.” He squeezed Cullen’s hand for a moment, “I _like_ you,” he told him, “and I’d like to get to know you better.”

\----

“I like you, too,” Cullen admitted and bit his bottom lip, “Though I had a funny way of showing it.”

It took a lot for him to be this open. He was an honest person, yes, but not a very _open_ one, not normally. Even now, as he stared down at the sight of Dorian's hand on his own, there was fear battling the happiness. He'd not had much luck with friends or partners, had made mistakes with devastating consequences because of them. That line he'd tried to establish with Dorian had been about more than keeping a job or safety on deck after all. The tattoo on his wrist was proof of that.

_It was almost nine years ago._

Nine years, and right now, that felt like a long enough punishment - long enough to keep himself blocked off from all hope of _more_. That hand over his and those words… they surely felt like they could be _more_ to Cullen.

_Maybe it's time to move on…_

He took a breath and moved his hand so that their fingers were entwined, ivory and bronze. It was a small thing, compared to that hungry sort of kiss from earlier, but felt more intimate somehow. Of course it did - it came with a pounding in his chest that had little to do with physical attraction and more with… opening up… choosing to trust.

The heat was on his face again, and in the back of his head, he knew he was blushing to the tips of his ears, but he returned Dorian's smile with a little one of his own. “Maker, I'm so bad at this,” he said with a light chuckle, “I've been on my own a long time, not sure if I know any other way to be. So forgive me if I'm rusty, but I will try. I want to.” Cullen nodded and looked into Dorian's eyes, his own wide before he breathed a little laugh. “What next? Want a redo of that interview… off the record?”

\----

“Why don’t we start with coffee,” Dorian agreed as he squeezed Cullen’s hand again. He smiled and leaned on his elbows as he watched the other man. Seeing that bit of vulnerability, and hearing that Cullen maybe wasn’t the best at this, was a bit of a bolster. At least Dorian wasn’t on his own in that regard, though he couldn’t imagine why Cullen didn’t have a line of men or women or whatever he wanted at his door.

He took a sip from his coffee and searched Cullen’s face for a long moment, “And I’ll tell you now I’m hopeless at this kind of thing, too. So maybe it’s not so bad to take the, uh... work time to get to know each other,” he offered, “that doesn’t happen all that often.”

\----

“Agreed,” Cullen nodded before he picked up his mug and clinked it lightly to Dorian's. “To… ah… getting to know one another,” he said, a sheepish smile playing at his lips, before drinking. It was silly to toast something like that, but it felt like some of the tension that had wound itself up deep in his gut had been released, and that was certainly something of note. This whole thing wasn't so hard, now that he was on the other side of it. That kiss and the still slightly confusing matter of mutual attraction aside, this conversation had gone a long way towards clearing the air. Cullen should have done it a long time ago and saved both of them a metric ton of grief. Hindsight was 20/20 and he'd _thought_ he'd been right, of course, but still… this was miles better than all that misplaced anger before.

“So,” he started, stifling a yawn, “Are you feeling better, a bit? That hip’s gonna smart something fierce tomorrow, I'm afraid, but you seem less… sick now.”

\----

“Less sick, yes,” Dorian agreed before he picked up another cookie and smiled, “maybe not cramming a thousand calories in one sitting well yet, but I actually had a sandwich before and it didn’t come back. That’s an improvement, right?”

Cullen was sitting across the U-bend of the table seating, which was a bit awkward, so Dorian moved his drink over and scooted so he was sitting a fair bit closer than he had been. It would give them the chance to talk a bit more quietly, and he could feel that warmth radiating outward. He smiled and curled an arm around Cullen’s so they were linked but maybe not completely all over each other. He dipped the cookie into his coffee and took a bite, though he was smiling around it.

“And what about you?” he asked, “I can’t imagine you being sick like I was. Was the Dread Deck Boss ever a sick little greenhorn?”

\----

A look of shock moved across Cullen's face when Dorian moved closer. As that arm curled around his, he felt a fluttering in his stomach, and the shock dissolved into a crooked grin. That closeness, it was… nice. It was something he hadn't had in a long, long time, and the last vestiges of that tension he felt just washed away. He tried to be nonchalant about it, picking up the pot of coffee and pouring the last bit into his cup before taking another sip. He tried, but of course his skin tingled where Dorian touched him, even under his sweater, and Cullen realized that scent was back in his nose. Dorian smelled so _good_. How in the Void did he still smell like anything other than salt and rubber boots and sweat after two weeks on the boat?

Cullen relaxed back into his seat and cleared his throat. “Well, no... I grew up around water, so it never really bothered me. If I was seasick, it was when I was so little, I don't even remember - you'll have to ask my dad that one,” he chuckled as he shifted a bit closer. He did it without thinking - something in him just sought out a little more of that warm, good closeness.

“But, yes, we were all greenhorn crabbers once. I've been on The Herald, what, 7, 8 years now? I had… something to prove when I started. And since I grew up on boats, I thought I knew,” a chuckle escaped scarred lips as he lost himself in the memory of those early days. “The captain at the time took a chance on me. I hadn't fished in years at that point, and never anything like this. Trev was deck boss back then, actually, and he was one of the few in my corner.” He took another sip of his coffee before he continued, “I threw myself into proving I was worthy, I guess, and uh… I got a little too careless on the stack. Cocky, even. We weren't even doing anything other than making sure the pots were secured properly - no weather, no real waves, but I lost my footing, and suddenly, I was in the water.” He laughed. It was funny now, but at the time, it was terrifying. That long drop to the water below, and no suit… he shuddered at the memory, and his hand moved of its own accord to reach for Dorian's again. “Luckily, Trev saw it… me… go down, and I was out before anything bad settled in. But Maker, I won't ever forget it.” He took another long drink of his coffee for the memory of that bitter cold before adding, “And that's my one very large, industrial-sized greenhorn fuck up story. Don't tell anyone else because I'll deny it with my dying breath. Trev’s been sworn to secrecy.”

\----

Oh, Dorian did like that little story. He was smiling, happy that Cullen picked to share that with him, and he leaned over to press a kiss against the other man’s shoulder. That jumper was still just as soft and nice, and Dorian liked the feeling of it against his skin. Everything about these softened lines of Cullen with the shy smiles and crooked grins and being so warm and cozy... Maker, it melted Dorian from the inside out. He hadn’t felt this _warm_ in weeks.

“I’m glad you came out of it alright,” Dorian told him softly as he squeezed the hand that was wrapped around his now, “mistakes happen, and I’m thankful that it wasn’t worse. For you, then, or me now.”

Grey eyes studied that handsome, scruffy face, and Dorian leaned in a bit closer to nudge that wall of warm strength before his free hand moved to hike up his shirt a bit so Cullen could see the already green and purple bruising at his hip, “I’d say that’s a decent sacrifice to the boat Gods, right?” he asked, “it’s not falling in the water bad, but... I’d really like to avoid that at all costs.”

\----

A twist and lean to get a better view, and Cullen was wincing, sucking air in through his teeth at the sight of that discolored patch of skin. “Ouch. Yeah, that's _really_ not gonna be pretty later. It's a battle scar - you should be proud,” he laughed softly before he turned his head to meet grey eyes and realized just how close he was, leaning across Dorian as he was to see that bruise. He was still for a moment, eyes wide and just… breathing, feeling his pulse pounding. In that space, he noticed that Dorian’s jaw was graced with what looked like several days’ worth of stubble, that mustache wasn't quite as curled and together as it had been before, and that full mouth was just… _right there_ , only a breath away. Cullen's own lips parted slightly as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, and he was filled with the urge to take advantage of the fact that they were alone here with all that warm closeness that had his mind a little fuzzy with contentment and just _kiss him silly_.

But no. No, they'd just talked about rules and getting to know one another. Besides, he'd been the one pushing before - suddenly and without asking - and he didn't want to… to assume. So he let the moment pass, with some difficulty, and relaxed back into his spot, though maybe just a little closer than before he’d moved. The exhaustion of the day was really catching up with him, and he sunk down, free hand across his stomach as he leaned his head against the back of the padded booth and tilted it just slightly in Dorian’s direction. He wouldn't kiss him again, not now anyway, if they were going to actually do this _getting to know one another_ and maintaining a working relationship thing. That didn't stop his sleepy body from wanting to be near the man next to him, though. The thought of just curling up around him and drifting off to sleep in comfort and warmth crossed Cullen’s tired mind. Not that that could happen - even if they ever got there, it would surely be noticed by the crew. Still, it was a nice thought to entertain.

This was… this was going to be interesting, this _thing_ with Dorian.

“Have you taken anything for it? The pain? I’ll go grab you some elfroot if not,” he offered before he snorted a chuckle through his nose and squeezed the hand that was still in his own, “Though if I'm honest, I don't _actually_ want to move.”

\----

“No, I’ve already taken as much as I should without eating any real food,” Dorian answered. The way Cullen was already leaning back and looking drifty was genuinely tempting. It would have been so easy to grab his hand and sneak back to the other man’s room, wouldn’t it? They were both tired, Dorian was still a bit sick and hurt, and Cullen would have made the most excellent bed partner. Still, they’d said that there needed to be a bit of a line. Sharing a bed in close quarters was definitely over that line.

Still, their hands were wrapped up together and Dorian scooted closer. He rested his head on Cullen’s shoulder, which was just awkward enough to mash his glasses up against his face, and closed his eyes so he could breathe the other man in. There was a bit of that stale rubber smell there, and a bit of fish, but even under that there was something salty and so fucking masculine that it made Dorian’s insides do flips. Cullen was the antithesis of every guy Dorian had ever dated. Completely. To list off all the ways would take days. He was also strong and soft in a way Dorian really liked, and having his head on Cullen’s shoulder quickly changed to him all but curling up with his head on the other man’s chest.

Staying like this he could nuzzle his face in a bit, and Dorian mouthed a kiss over where Cullen’s heart beat before he closed his eyes. That warmth bled over into him, and immediately Dorian felt tired enough to actually sleep. Varric’s snoring was far away, and he was happy to just sleep like that. He might have actually dozed off for a moment, too, and he opened his eyes a few minutes later.

“We should... probably not be out here like this in case someone gets up,” Dorian murmured, “and you haven’t slept yet. You should go to bed.”

\----

_Oh, sweet Maker._

This was perfect. He was on a creaking old boat in the middle of the most hostile seas in Thedas, running on almost no sleep for the past 24 hours and his whole body ached for the work he'd done, but this? This right here was absolute perfection. The way Dorian snuggled into Cullen's chest made his insides quiver and melt in a way they hadn't in such a long time - if they ever had like this. It was a release of sorts, just like that kiss had been earlier, though where that had been rough and needy, this was soft and warm. Just like he'd wanted more of that kiss earlier, he wanted more of this. More of this slow gentle comfort that soothed him to his core.

And then Dorian brushed a kiss against his chest, and Cullen almost ached for how much he needed this. He just hadn't known, and hadn't thought it would come from such an unlikely source. When the day began, when he was bristling against the way Dorian flagrantly ignored his boundary, when he was stalking the man down the hallway, he never would have dreamt this, not in a million years. But here it was.

Slowly, he worked his hand free and wrapped that arm around Dorian’s shoulders to pull him in tighter. For his part, Dorian seemed to have nodded off. His breathing was even, and Cullen took time to just enjoy this moment. Who knew when they'd have another like it? Amazing how well Dorian's frame fit in against his own - amazing, since they were almost oil and water for all they seemed to have in common. But Maker, something brought them together like this, and Cullen was old enough to know that it could be more than just the physical, as nice as that taste had been earlier.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow they'd have to work under… constraints. Right now, though, Cullen wanted to prolong this moment as much as he could. He leaned his head down and buried his face in dark hair that was just as soft as he'd imagined and just _breathed_. That scent, he couldn't place it exactly. There was the vanilla-clove of the man's cigarettes, of course, but below that was something dark and sweet at the same time. A mystery, much like the man himself was, but it filled Cullen's  chest and brought a content little smile to scarred lips as his entire body just… relaxed.

Perfection.

He didn't know how long he dozed, likely just a few minutes, but he woke to Dorian's voice low and like velvet in his ears.

 _… should go to bed_ , he was saying.

“Mmmmmmm,” he rumbled, still half asleep, “We should.” His voice was thick with sleep and everything else, his face was still buried in Dorian's hair, his eyes were still closed, and he very much wanted to go back to sleep with that soothing warmth curled around and pressed against him.

\----

One eyebrow cocked for that, and Dorian let out a soft chuckle for that. Oh, how he would have loved to sneak back into that little stateroom, but come... well, not necessarily morning but whenever they got into town it would be a bit awkward. “Cullen,” Dorian prompted gently as he nudged him, “come on.”

He got to his feet and helped to pull Cullen up as well. The other man was so handsome when he was so sleepy and smiley like that. Curled up like they were it was almost hard to tell where Cullen ended and Dorian began. That was nice. Now, though, they needed to sleep. _Cullen_ needed sleep. As much as Dorian would have loved to keep him awake, he couldn’t do that. Though, really, just watching him doze would have been just as nice.

Slowly, Dorian got them walking toward the bedrooms, and as they got closer, Dorian leaned in to kiss his cheek like he’d done the other night on deck, “Get some sleep,” he told him, “you deserve it.”

\----

Cullen was stuck in the dizzy haze between consciousness and sleep, and his head spun a bit as he let Dorian lead him down the hallway. Amber eyes could only manage to pull themselves half open, and the rolling of the boat turned his usually steady steps into a series of uneven little stumbles. That sleepy smile was still on his lips, though, as Dorian kissed his cheek, made wider by the sweetness in the gesture.

At his door, Cullen turned half-lidded eyes on Dorian. “Strange day,” he said thickly and chuckled. “Glad it ended like this, though.” He didn't really want it to end, didn't really want to crawl into a cold bed alone, but that's how it had to be.

Still, though. One last… something. Before they had to resume their roles... softened as they would be, they'd still have to maintain some semblance of distance. He hesitated, smiled a shy little smile, then leaned forward and brushed a kiss against Dorian's forehead. That would just have to do. The way his heart thumped… maybe it was plenty for now.

“‘night, Dorian,” he said, voice soft as he pulled away, gave the man one last little smile, and went into his room alone. It didn't take him long to fall asleep, though he may have drifted off holding a pillow to his chest where he'd never done that before.


	10. Sea Legs [2 of 4]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The back and forth of getting to know one another begins, but it's marked by secrecy and wholly unlike anything either of them has experienced before.

The trip into town had been quiet. Dorian had elected to stay on the boat just for the quiet, had napped a bit and had a shower in their tiny shower stall (which was... well, he’d scrubbed it top to bottom first), and shaved off the weeks of a beard that had grown in. It wasn’t the best job, since he didn’t trust himself with an actual sharp razor on the rocking boat even in port, but he’d at least cleaned himself up and managed to make something hot to eat that didn’t make him completely ill. Actually, while the others had been off the boat, Dorian had cooked a little something for Trev and Barris who had stuck around to help with the counts.

That was about when Trev elected to put Dorian on kitchen duty at least every so often, and that was fine with him. Cooking for the others ingratiated him a lot more, and if how Trev and Barris cleaned their plates that night had been anything to go by, they’d probably like it. So, when they headed back out... he had something. Dorian had something to focus on that wasn’t just how his stomach made little fluttering movements every time Cullen was close by.

It didn’t inhibit work, weirdly enough. Dorian had been intimate with a few people on the job, dated a few artists they covered or that he’d worked with here and there. He knew it could be distracting. He knew _he_ could be distracting, and this was one time where he didn’t peacock for attention while the object of his infatuation did what they needed to do. Of course he wanted to, though. He wanted to make that little blush pop up in those already pinked cheeks, and he wanted to see that crooked and sleepy smile. Dorian wanted that wall of heat against his side for a few minutes at night. He also wanted to not get in trouble. Or to get Cullen in trouble, or to put anyone in danger. Flirting was great, but possibly taking an extra pair of eyes off the men on deck because they were mooning over him wasn’t at all what Dorian wanted to happen. So they played nice. They didn’t fight, Cullen didn’t yell, and Dorian did his best to get his shots without getting in the way. They even _laughed_ a bit on deck when, after pulling another pot, Dorian had bent over the table and a crab attached itself to his rain gear for a terrifying moment.

Days went by with soft looks and small smiles. Sometimes they chatted briefly in the galley when everyone was doing something else. Sometimes they stood maybe just a bit too close. It was better than nothing, though, and still fun. It was fun in a weird way, and whenever they got a bit of time, they managed to smile here and there. Dorian actually learned a lot, now that he was paying attention, and that little bit of knowledge helped him with the angles. It wasn’t anything groundbreaking, not yet, but helped him to at least know what was going on a bit better. That, and Dorian liked that Cullen seemed to feel more comfortable on deck now that they weren’t in the middle of their spat.

Eventually, as the last of the still mediocre pots were being hauled up, Dorian disappeared off deck to finish the meal he’d started that afternoon. Most of the crew was Fereldan, so there wasn’t much accounting for taste, and he’d opted for a fairly standard lamb curry with rice and vegetables... but also with a side of scrambled eggs and bacon. He hadn’t made the curry terribly hot, but that didn’t mean everyone would want it. Still, it was pretty good for having been put together on a rolling boat. Dorian hadn’t cut himself or burnt himself, and now that the others were filing in they seemed to appreciate just how good it smelled in the galley.

Dorian smiled as he set down all the dishes on the table and turned to pour a glass of juice for himself. He leaned against the counter, and let the others have at it first. They’d been the ones doing the heavy lifting, after all, and it didn’t take long for everyone to get settled in and eating.

\----

The guys finished their dinners and went back up on deck to wrap things up so they could get in a few hours of sleep while The Herald steamed to their next group of strings. As they made their way out, they all volunteered Alistair for clean up duty - him being a greenhorn and all - and grunted a thanks to Dorian. Though Alistair did notice that the big, scary deck boss - who was, by the way, miraculously a lot _less_ scary these past days - lingered longer than the rest, and his thanks was less a grunt and more an oddly stammered thing with… Maker, was that a blush and _another_ smile? The greenhorn pretended not to notice as he gathered up the dishes on the table. But really, it was curious. Very curious.

“Reporting for clean up duty,” he grinned broadly as he brought the armload of dishes over to the sink. “Though after that meal… I don't mind. _So_ good. What did you say it was?”

\----

Cullen’s thanks had been terribly cute, and while he knew better than to pay too much attention to it around the others... Dorian couldn’t help but smile as well. They were all too tired for him to try to ask for more of Cullen’s time, so it seemed like it was clean up and bed as well. Dorian could handle that.

And then there was Alistair. Dorian liked him. He smiled and set to filling the sink with hot water for him, “Curry,” he answered, “not something you’re used to having?” He’d expected as much, but wanted to make something warming. “I thought I might do something a bit different,” he went on, “though I was a bit worried all your Fereldan sensibilities might get a bit corrupted for how hot I normally make it. We can’t have all five of you breathing fire, hm?”

\----

“Oh, no. Boiled meat and potatoes and _you better like it_ is more the speed I'm used to,” he returned with an easy grin, then shrugged as he started running water over dirty dishes. “Not a lot of _fine dining_ or even _choice_ or _variety_ at an orphanage… especially a Fereldan one, apparently.” The tap ran hot, and he rolled up his sleeves to get down to it. “But no fire breathing. Maker, please, no fire. I couldn't handle any more… especially from a certain someone. You know the guy, I think. Lots of snapping? Face like this,” and here he scowled, knitting his eyebrows together in a stern imitation before smiling again.

\----

Dorian started laughing for that, “Oh, now, you’re not quite blond enough for that impression,” he teased. Poor Alistair did cop a lot from the other guys. Apparently it was some sort of initiation thing to keep poking at him, to make sure he could handle it or something, and while it didn’t sit terribly well with Dorian... well, it was their way. “And you haven’t gotten yelled at in at least ten minutes, so that’s something. Right?”

He set to putting away all the spices and everything else that got pulled down in all the cooking, then grinned over at the greenhorn, “In my complete lack of knowledge on the subject matter, though, I think you’re doing a great job. They maybe don’t tell you that enough.” Dorian nudged the other man with his hip a little, “it would be a hard job having to heft all those bait cans and fish and crawling in the pot and that, like you do, so don’t let them tell you that what you’re doing is easy. Alright?”

From what little Alistair had shared about his life, even those very recent comment a second ago, it sounded like he could use someone in his corner. Maybe it had to be the just as green camera guy, but someone was better than no one.

\----

“Oh, come on, that was spot on, admit it,” Alistair poked back as he set about washing dishes, elbow deep in suds and water. “Still, you’re right… around here, I’m learning it’s more a ‘no news is good news’ situation rather than any sort of ‘attaboys. I mean, not that I didn’t expect it to be that way… just… it’s been a lot harder than I thought. Especially those first two weeks. Man. If I never hear my own last name again, it’ll be too soon. ‘Theirin, over here,’ and ‘Theirin, over there,’ and ‘Theirin, you fucked this up,’ and ‘Theirin, you’re overbaiting,’ and ‘Theirin, stop breathing like that.’”

He was silent for a moment as he realized he’d been going on about himself and waxing a little more bitter than he’d meant to. It really… well, it really hadn’t been as bad since that first offload. He still got called out, of course, and the guys gave him hell when he slipped, but that was all part of it. He could stomach that.

“But enough about me, fascinating as I am,” he went on and winked at Dorian, “How’re you holding up? At least I’ve been out fishing before… this is all new to you, right?”

\----

“Completely,” Dorian agreed with a nod as he wiped his hands on a towel, “and other than that bruise, I’m... getting there. I can at least eat without feeling like I’m going to be sick now. Mostly.”

There was something about having a bit of a friend on the boat. There was Cullen, of course, but it seemed like Alistair was able to be a bit more free with his friendship. Dorian appreciated that. He appreciated Cullen’s position (as well as his own and the not wanting to be fired), but there was something to be said about there being someone who could just talk and laugh with him without it having to be a worry about how it might be perceived. Then again, Alistair hadn’t kissed him and didn’t make his heart and stomach do flips like Cullen did. He was sweet, absolutely handsome, but Dorian was more than sure he wasn’t interested.

He took up the drying position at the dish rack and set to it, smiling over at the other man, “I’ve obviously done the camera work before, but never anything like this. It’s been an experience. A... very sickly and painful experience, but one nonetheless.” Oddly, he was warming to it. Dorian had expected to hate every moment of it, and he found that he wasn’t so much anymore. “Not that I’ll be asking to take over bait duty or anything,” he teased, “I’ll leave that to you.”

\----

“Oh, by all means, please do!” Alistair laughed, raising both hands in the air, foamy soap bubbles scattering around as they fell. “Maybe then my hands will stop smelling like cod guts… and the guys’ll be happy to have someone competent running the bait. Though you get your fair share of the shit, too, don’t you?”

But no, that wasn’t exactly right. At least not recently. Things had somehow smoothed out of late - for the crew as well as Dorian, Alistair noted. It all came back to the night the two had virtually exploded at each other. Something had happened that changed the atmosphere on deck almost overnight. He’d burned with curiosity to know then, and found himself no less eager to know now.

“Hey, so, ah… slight subject change” Alistair continued as he handed a clean dish to Dorian to dry, “And this is just me being nosy, so tell me to shut it if you want, but… that night, when you and Cullen really got into it… what happened?”

\----

He blinked. _An amazing kiss that I’m still replaying every time I go to sleep._ Surely he shouldn’t say that, though. Alistair was a good guy, but that would certainly betray some of those things he and Cullen had talked about before. An arsehole though he could be, Dorian wasn’t going to fuck up those boundaries. He shifted his weight a bit, then licked his lips and brushed a hand through his hair.

“We...n both yelled,” Dorian answered, “and then we came to an agreement. It was probably a bit more stupid than we wanted to admit.” Then he shrugged, “Cullen’s not a bad guy, when he’s not in total Deck Boss mode. He probably doesn’t want anyone to know that, but he’s alright.”

\----

“Because Maker _forbid_ someone thinks he's _nice_ ,” Alistair retorted with a raised eyebrow. “Still, he's really taken it down a level since then. More… grumpy mentor than raging asshole. Something you said must have gotten to him. I should really thank you.”

Alistair was getting the feeling that maybe that wasn't the whole story, if that little side-to-side shift was anything to go by. Dorian's words said one thing with confidence, but his body language… that said nervous. It only served to make Alistair more curious, but contrary to the belief of his people back home, he _did_ possess a modicum of tact.

“So anyway… thank you. For whatever you did that tamed the savage beast. It's been… kind of harder than I thought it would be, being here, and at least that's better now.”

\----

Dorian smiled, “Well, you know, that’s something,” and bit a little at his lip, “why don’t you head to bed, hm? I’ll finish up in here. You’ve been up forever.” Alistair’s eyes were a bit red and swollen, trademark of having been up for too many hours, and he didn’t deserve that. “The rest is easy enough, and you should sleep as much as you can,” he went on, “go on. After some food and a nap, there’s a chance Cullen might even _smile_. Just, you know, don’t call attention to it.”

“I keep hoping if I cook and make sure you guys sleep it’ll make everyone a bit happier,” he teased, “more, ah... willing to answer questions, hm?”

\----

“Dorian Pavus, full time cameraman and sometimes boatmother,” Alistair teased with a laugh before stifling a yawn with one hand. “I do appreciate your line of thinking though - I’ve never been so damn tired as I have been on this boat.” He dried his hands off on a towel before giving Dorian’s shoulder a quick squeeze and smiling broadly. “I, for one, appreciate food and sleep, so you’ve won me over.” A moment passed, and his face grew a little more serious, “I’m glad you’re here, Dorian. It’s nice… to have someone to talk to, you know?” After a breath or two, he continued, “Anyway, I’m for bed… if you’re really ok finishing up here? I don’t mind staying up.”

\----

“No, go, it’s fine,” Dorian told him and lifted a hand to cover the one on his shoulder for just a second, “you should sleep as much as you can.”

So he finished the cleaning and the putting away and headed for his and Varric’s shared room. Now he was tired enough to sleep, though he did stop outside the door to look down at Cullen’s. It would have been so easy to slip into his room and maybe into his bed where it would be quiet and warm. He _wanted_ to. He wanted to maybe curl up with those big, strong arms around him. But no. If Alistair was asking questions then there was a good chance the others would too. They’d notice.

For a moment, Dorian wished it didn’t matter.

Then it was back to it: back to fishing, back to the small glances and smiles, back to the odd shoulder brush or touch to the arm. It was a bit maddening, actually. The fact that he knew Cullen was interested, knew that he was interested in Cullen, and they couldn’t do anything? He wanted to. He wanted... well, he wanted to do a lot of things with Cullen, but maybe more than anything else, he wanted to be able to talk freely without anyone getting wise. He wanted to hold his hand and go out or stay in and watch a movie or just _something,_ and it was difficult that all they had were the smiles and brief touches. It made Dorian so hyper-aware of him to the point that if the man was anywhere close he could practically feel the heat that came off him. He wanted to feel that heat, but more in the sense of being together than just _near_ one another.

It was getting easier, though. The easier it was on the boat, the easier all that was to digest. Dorian knew he’d never be completely comfortable, and he did have to keep a seasickness patch on to keep himself even, but things were getting better. He was more comfortable on deck with the others, knew how and when to move in and out of Cullen’s circle when they were working, and now that he’d cooked a bit and actually asked questions different to ‘are you tired after being awake for twenty-six hours?’ all the time, they were good about answering the ones he posed them. There had to be some of the usual bullshit, for sure, but he did like to ask things that were a bit more personal and more about the job than just the being tired or cold. It made the guys more human, less like random subjects, and that was important to him.

“Holy shit!”

Dorian turned from where he was leaned in and filming Blackwall sorting some of the huge pile that had just been dumped onto the table. The man could move faster at this than Dorian had seen, and he was rather absorbed in how thick, large hands easily separated the good from the bad. That exclamation, however, made him lift his head and Dorian let out a huge laugh as Alistair picked up a crab by two legs that had almost the arm span he did.

“Don’t set it down!” Dorian teased him as he turned, “if it gets ahold of a knife we’re all done for.”

“This thing’s as big as me,” Alistair laughed as he looked down at it, “can we hire him? This many hands and legs should be good for something, right?”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head as the others started in then. It was good fishing, which was also a good time, and it kept the spirits up. During a quick break, fifteen minutes at most, Dorian crashed with the others in the little ready room. There were benches and a few foldable camp chairs for comfort, and Dorian dropped himself in one with his camera in his lap. “I swear to the Maker I’m going to make so much money inventing a pair of rubber boots that aren’t hell on your feet,” he complained.

The others were chatting amongst themselves if they hadn’t ducked inside for some coffee. It left Dorian and Alistair to chat, and he found the more they talked the more he liked him. He was an intelligent sort, sweet and a bit naive, and Dorian enjoyed when they did talk. It was a good mix of smart and mindless, which was what was needed in a place like this. Sometimes their brains didn’t need to be challenged or serious, but sometimes something other than work or complaining needed to happen. It seemed they were both happy to have that distraction.

\----

_Maker, this is beyond frustrating._

That was the only way Cullen could label how he felt now - frustrated to his core. It wasn't the same _kind_ of frustrated he'd been before, the kind that had set him on edge and tense like a clock wound too tightly, but it certainly was frustration. He had basically confessed to Dorian like a teenager with a crush and, by some strange miracle, had learned that the interest was mutual - but he couldn't do a damn thing about it. Nothing beyond a shy smile here or the briefest of touches there… touches that had to appear accidental or not at all out of the ordinary. They couldn't even _talk_ for fuck’s sake. Not often, at least, and never about what Cullen wanted to.

But this was what he'd decided. No, this was what they'd decided. To play it safe. To not act while they were working. To not seek each other out above and beyond interaction that happened normally on deck. And, oh, if Dorian's presence before had been like an icepick in his mind, now it was a searing fire.

Still, it was better than before. The anger was gone, which had a ripple effect through the crew and improved their morale. Instead of the quick-tempered asshole they’d suffered, they got their old deck boss back - blunt, yes, but steady and sure… and perhaps even a bit softened.

That knowledge didn't make it any easier on Cullen that he couldn't just be open and see where that _thing_ they had for each other would go. Buttoned up and professional, that's what he had to be.

But, he noticed, no one else seemed to be under that constraint. Not Alistair, apparently. Oh, Cullen had noticed the two becoming friends, even before the night that things shifted and feelings were acknowledged. Part of him thought it good - it gave the two newest men on the boat a support structure of sorts. But, Maker, it got under his skin. He wasn't… threatened by Alistair _like that_ , it wasn't that. But every time he saw the easy way they spoke, that frustration rose. Each time Alistair coaxed a laugh from Dorian, each time they pushed at each other playfully, Cullen felt his heart clench a bit. He wanted to be able to just forget his position on the boat. He wanted to be able to talk to Dorian openly like that. He wanted to be someone who could make Dorian laugh.

But he couldn't, and he wasn't. He'd never considered himself someone who was easy to get along with or interesting or funny.

So he watched. He watched and felt like he was dead in the water and said nothing because he couldn't and _what would he even say?_ At least Dorian had someone on this boat to talk to, to lighten his spirits.

Just… Cullen wanted to be that person.

And now everyone was taking a quick break between strings. Cullen had wandered inside for coffee, but returned to the ready room after to find Alistair and Dorian chatting animatedly. He didn't know what it was about, it didn't matter really. He just knew he wanted to be in Alistair’s chair. He wanted to be next to Dorian. He wanted to be his friend.

But not in front of the crew, he couldn't without raising suspicions, so he just nodded in greeting and offered a thin smile, jaw working, as he pushed through and went back out on deck for a smoke and to clear his mind.

Frustrating. This whole thing was frustrating.

\----

It only took a moment of Cullen being there, but Dorian was so aware of him he knew the instant he poked his head in and the instant that he left. Nice as it was to sit and chat with Alistair or the others, and it really was nice, Dorian wanted... well, he wanted something else. _Someone_ else. So he got to his feet, fussed around in his gear for a cigarette, and smiled as he stepped back toward the door.

As he stepped back out on deck, Dorian lit his cigarette and ambled over to where Cullen was at the rail. It wasn’t unlike that night with the aurora, save for the missing lights, and he smiled as he looked over at the other man. “Well, this is nice,” he commented, “in that it’s dark and very wet, but it’s not windy and awful, so it’s not so bad.” He turned a bit to nudge Cullen with his elbow, “and hey, you, by the way.”

\----

Back outside, the cold night air was… well, it was cold, which was just what Cullen needed right now. To let that chill and the salt spray from the ocean send a shock to his system and settle his mind. It wouldn't do to get worked up and go backwards. Things _were_ better, even if they were just a bit lonelier now that Cullen knew what it was like to have Dorian's warmth against him, what the man tasted and smelled like, but had to hold back at every turn. He wanted nothing more than to see Dorian's smile and feel that closeness they'd shared when they both dozed off in the galley.

The smell of vanilla and cloves filled his nose, and Cullen let out a long exhale as a little smile, less tight than before, lifted the corners of his mouth. The smell of those cigarettes had once made his head pound and turn his stomach, but now he found he liked it. That sweet-smoky scent meant that Dorian was near, after all.

“Hey yourself,” he returned when Dorian greeted him and felt a pleased little warmth settle in with that playful nudge. He returned that little poke and added, “No, it's not so bad _now_.” _Not now that you're here._

Amber eyes turned on Dorian, and Cullen took a moment to just take the man's beauty in... and had to fight the urge to just pull the man into his arms, so lovely was he under the silver moonlight. It really wasn't fair. He shouldn't have to do all this fighting.

But if wishes were horses, as they say.

Cullen took a draw from his cigarette and blew the smoke out into the night sky as he leaned over onto the rails, stretching his lower back out a bit. “How are you holding up? We've been at this for a while now…” He wasn't sure if he meant the fishing or the way they'd been dancing around each other in the name of professionalism since that night. _Either way,_ he thought.

\----

“I’m settling in alright,” Dorian told him, and cast a glance back toward the door before he took a half step closer to Cullen. What he wanted to do was put his arm around the man, maybe help rub the kinks out of his back, and rest his head on Cullen’ shoulder. “There’s, you know, these little moments here and there that make it all worth it,” Dorian went on, and tipped his head to the side as he took another drag from his cigarette.

“I was going to ask you, um... does this, you know, this thing we’re doing... I know we’re not supposed to _talk_ ,” Dorian began, “but we could maybe try? You know, in front of the others? Maybe not about how good a kisser you are, but... other things?”

\----

One hand whipped around to the mic pack on his belt, and Cullen turned it off before he answered. It was in their contract after all: anything the mics picked up was fair use for the show, and this wasn't necessarily something Cullen wanted broadcasted into living rooms across Thedas. It wasn't anyone else's business but theirs, and Cullen aimed to keep it that way.

That done, he stood back up and turned to give Dorian a long, considering look. Could he find a balance? Somewhere that wasn't either almost completely ignoring the man or Cullen throwing himself on him? Friends he'd said, and friends he'd wanted to be. They weren't getting any closer to that like this, only really talking the few chances they had to be alone. Dorian was right - they could try.

“It would require… a bit more restraint, at least on my part,” Cullen began slowly, voice thoughtful and a little hesitant, “... but I think… No. No, I know… that would be better. Talking. We should talk more. I _want_ to talk more.”  There was a beat of silence before he grinned, “Good kisser, huh? But you didn't want to talk about that, did you?”

He was aware of the fact that he'd taken a small step in Dorian's direction so he was standing just a little closer than politeness or propriety dictated. He was also aware of the blush on his face. He just didn't care.

\----

“You’re an excellent kisser,” Dorian teased, then winked over at Cullen. This was where he was more comfortable, the flirting. That couldn’t last beyond these few moments, but it was good. “Which is why it’ll take a bit of restraint for me too,” he went on, “I just... I don’t like not being able to talk to someone I _like_.”

Maker, but he did want to lean in for a kiss. The stationary cameras would see, though, and that actually sucked. Cullen looked so beautiful in the moonlight, and with his cheeks a bit more pink for that compliment and their conversation now.

“So while we have a minute,” he mused, “tell me something that’s not on your biography page. I’ll tell you something that’s not on my resume in return?”

\----

“Something not on my bio for something not on your resume,” Cullen repeated and chuckled, “I can play that game, but you may have to be more specific, or I'll tell you something like ‘my favorite color is red’ or ‘I really like autumn’ or ‘I have several hobbies,’ and you'll just be disappointed.” He paused for a moment, pondering a lifetime of things he could share with Dorian. As light as his bio was in the personal side, literally everything outside of his fishing career was fair game.

And many of those things were far too heavy to think about, let alone discuss - at least the portion of them that happened during his assignment in Kirkwall. But he had mentioned hobbies, hadn't he? That was safe and wouldn't kill the mood.

But it would be damn embarrassing.

He sighed, relenting, as he cut his eyes upward and bit at the inside of his cheek. “But here's something, and you keep this to yourself… but I, ah… I live alone, right? And that gets boring sometimes, so I do actually have a few hobbies.” Maker, he couldn't believe he was about to openly admit this - on a crab boat in the middle of the Frozen Seas, no less. One hand shot up to rub nervously at the knot in his neck as he opened his mouth to speak.

“I, ah… I knit. My mom taught me, and it passes the time, and it's functional.” He took a breath and met his eyes connect with Dorian's, “And Maker help me, I mean it when I say keep it to yourself. The only people who know that are me, my family, and now you.”

\----

Oh, but that was entirely too... well, unexpected, but also very sweet. Dorian smiled for that, and again he so wished he could have leaned into that strong, muscled frame. “I won’t tell a soul,” he answered, “but now I want to see what you’ve made.” Okay, he couldn’t handle the not being able to touch. It was worse when Cullen was so close, and hearing something like that made him really want to touch him.

So he reached his hand out, maybe like he was pointing at something over the side, and brushed one of Cullen’s hands. Something about that little admission made him feel entirely too close to Cullen, and Dorian found that in that quick moment he liked it. It was strange, actually, and it made his insides feel a bit warm and like jelly.

“Well, if we’re sharing that kind of thing,” Dorian went on, “um... I’m a bit of an amateur photographer. Not, like, the cameras we use here, but... actual photography. Nothing major, but it’s something to keep me occupied.”

\----

A calloused forefinger tapped the red knit cap on Cullen’s head. “You're looking at something. Also, some of the sweaters I have. Like… like I said… it's _functional_.” Not to mention appealing to Cullen's sense of order and how it was soothing to sit and let his mind disengage as he ticked off numbers and rows while his fingers moved nimbly in a rhythm all their own.

But now Cullen just felt silly for the tidbit of information he'd shared. Photography was an _actually_ interesting hobby to have. Dorian was an _actually_ interesting person. But the damage was done, and it's not like Cullen had anything much more exciting going on when he wasn't on the boat. Other than when his niece and nephew would come stay with him, his life was routine and, he was realizing, more than a little lonely. It was kind of sad, now that he was thinking about it.

But photography. It fit Dorian like a glove, and from the way he moved to get certain shots here on The Herald, Cullen was suddenly imagining the crazy angles and impossible contortions he'd go through to frame a perfect picture. Because Cullen knew they'd be perfect, all of them, considering the care and passion the man put into doing a job he’d admittedly never wanted. To see Dorian doing something he actually loved? Cullen's heart thumped - the sight would be both beautiful and probably a little terrifying. Cullen very much wanted to see that.

“I'm sure your work is wonderful,” Cullen offered with a little smile. He wanted to reach out and… _something._ Hold Dorian's hand in his own, at least. But he couldn't take that risk - someone would be coming out of the door that led down to the galley any moment. He just took another draw off his cigarette instead. “I'd also like to, ah, see your stuff. Very much.” Another draw of his cigarette, and he added, “Round two? Or are we done? Assuming that wasn't enough to turn you off completely, of course. Maker, maybe give me a topic this time. Whatever you want.”

\----

“Round two,” he chuckled. Now Dorian maybe understood a bit better why he liked the sight of that knit cap. He really wanted to take it and maybe clutch it in his hands. More than that, he wanted to rake his fingers through those blond curls. They were so soft, and Dorian wanted to feel them in his hands again. “Let’s see,” Dorian went on as he studied that handsome face.

Cullen was so shy when he wanted to be, and there was something so endearing about it. To see him blush and be a bit embarrassed of his hobby was sweet. Dorian actually really liked the mental image of Cullen sitting and knitting something with a cup of coffee off to the side. It was sweet, and certainly different to anything and any _one_ that Dorian had ever known. It made him feel cozy on the inside somehow, and that was a nice feeling. Now he wished he could lean into that warm body so they could chat about this in a slightly more comfortable or... any way that wasn’t just them acting like they _weren’t_ flirting.

“Other than the knitting,” Dorian went on, “what do you like to do? You get a bit of time off between seasons, right? Are you a... you don’t strike me as a big, expensive cars type of guy, or that ‘play hard’ in the off time. So what do you do during your time off?”

\----

Cullen leaned his head back and blew smoke up into the air before letting out a little groan. “And here's where you learn that I'm not an incredibly interesting person,” he admitted as he offered Dorian an apologetic little grin, “Homebody is, I think, the term. Mostly I like working with my hands… gives the mind time off, you know? I, ah… I tinker around the house and yard. I like to learn how things work, so I tear things apart to put them back together.” He thought for a moment… there really wasn't much. “No expensive cars, no. But I did take my dad's old car - it's kind of a classic. It's a… a project car. I'm teaching myself to rebuild it. Slowly and with many colorful words,” he chuckled at that. There'd been many nights spent in frustration over that damn car. He loved it, though. “Other than that… trips to town. Sometimes I meet Trev in the off season. Normal stuff. My niece and nephew come to visit sometimes. That's always fun.”

He couldn't imagine that any of that would be appealing to Dorian. Fix it work around the house, getting covered in grease trying to revive a dead car, family trips. It was all so… mundane. Cullen was pretty mundane. Until now, he'd been happy with that, hadn't even given it a second thought. But now that he was trying to look at his life through someone else's eyes… there wasn't anything remarkable about it.

“Fairly boring stuff, I'm afraid,” he offered. Boring, but he'd not really shared even that much with many people. Just having this conversation at all was new. Exciting even that anyone would be interested - that Dorian might be interested. “Your turn. If you didn't have to be here, what would you be doing? Ideally?”

\----

There was something about Cullen, in the way he spoke and how he acted both with Dorian alone and the others when they were around, that helped that make sense. Dorian didn’t see him as the type to blow his money on going out or anything like that. The staying home and working on something like a car? Dorian could see that. Or something like building his own house or something. That would have also made a lot of sense.

In a quick moment, Dorian could picture Cullen coming in from working on something, wiping greasy hands on a rag, and going to wash up before dinner or crashing on the couch. It was a nice thought. If he took an even longer moment to indulge, he could picture himself on that couch and curled up with him. That was even better. Quiet. Peaceful. Not stressful. Not... unpleasant.

He was smiling as Cullen spoke, and Dorian took another drag off his cigarette so he could taste that vanilla across his tongue. The other man had given him such a dirty look about them that first day, and now here they were smoking together and enjoying it. It was nice. “You have to have hobbies,” Dorian pointed out, “and they don’t need to be... what? Motorcycles and raves for days to be interesting. I can totally see you with your hands in an engine, and... I’m not nearly so handy, so it’s really impressive to me.”

He turned and blew out his lungful of smoke to the side, then smiled, “And ideally? I... before this, um, before I talked to the producer who helped me get the job, I was set to work on a project. A very dear friend of mine wanted to do a sort of moderately low budget movie that had... art and drama, and some political undertones. It was going to be amazing. But it didn’t work out. I’d... planned half of it out, and was going to get executive producer rights to it and everything. I’d also been looking forward to the pay from it. So if I wasn’t here, I’d wish that never got canned.”

It still left a bitter taste in his mouth. Dorian didn’t want to be angry about it, there was nothing that could be done, but he could only be so much of the bigger person in it all. “And if you weren’t fishing?” he asked, “though I guess this is everyone’s ‘it’s an adventure!’ job if they weren’t working in an office or something.”

\----

Well, now the chip that Dorian had on his shoulder about this job made sense. That sounded… well, Cullen didn't understand all the implications, but it sounded like it was important. Meaningful, at least to Dorian, but chance had flung him out to sea in the ass end of Thedas. No wonder his words now had a little edge to them and that he’d had an attitude at first. And Cullen had only antagonized him.

What's done was done though. The important thing - the amazing thing - was that they were there now, talking… and Dorian was still asking questions. Either out of actual interest or politeness or to see if that's all there really was to the man who'd kissed him that night a while back, Cullen didn't know, but he was still asking. He'd never been so happy to be… interviewed before. It was a strange feeling.

“Wow,” he said and his voice reflected how just impressed he was. “Executive producer. That's… well, I have no idea what that means, but it sounds amazing.” Before he knew what he was doing, he reached out a hand and squeezed Dorian's shoulder in a way that he hoped was… reassuring? Commiserating? Something that showed he was sorry. “It's a shame it went south and you ended up… here. Would it be mean, though, to say I'm glad you're here?”

And then there was a moment. Cullen felt it, anyway, like he was being pulled in by gravity. He just… he just wanted to be closer. To not be aware of the eyes and cameras on them. To let this progress like it should. He wanted to pull Dorian in and learn all there was to know about him. He held Dorian’s gaze for a long moment before he was aware that his hand was still on the man’s shoulder. Blushing and clearing his throat, he turned and leaned back down on the rail. _That was close._

“If _I_ wasn't here?” he went on quickly, “Well, I've only ever been good at two things. This and following orders. Though I failed at that, so I guess this is all I have.” And that was a hard thing to think about. The choices he'd made, and what he did in the end. He was lucky his bio read _honorably_ discharged, though that was largely due to a kindhearted superior officer. But no, he didn't want to think of that, to color this rare moment alone with Dorian like his whole life had been colored. With a little shake of his head, he sighed, “So I'm afraid I can't answer that one. I don't… I don't know what else I could do.”

\----

That hand on his shoulder was nice. So was the reassurance that him being there wasn’t the actual worst thing in the world. That was good. “Honestly,” Dorian began, “I said it before, but I am liking this more than I thought. I was half expected to be ignored completely and you guys hating the fact that Varric and I are here. So it’s been nice that it hasn’t been like that.” He smiled over at Cullen for that. “And I think the whole...idea of this is actually really interesting and a good story to tell, so I get that too. I kind of wasn’t expecting that.”

He looked down at his hand, still covered in rings for the moment. After being up and doing for more hours than this, he’d take them off for comfort’s sake. Comfort was key in this job, even in the small doses. Like these chats, which he hoped there would be more of, were going to help that. Dorian knew that much for sure. It might not help the ache in his feet and legs and back, but it was something.

“No shame in doing what you’re good at and what you like, though,” he went on, “I... appreciate that. I’ve known way too many people who just do something because it’s a family business or because it was a way to get a good paycheck, but sucks the soul out of them. Though I can’t say the staying up for forty hours at a time doing extremely hard labor is quite up my alley.”

\----

“Not with those hands, anyway,” Cullen teased and held his own up, palms to the sky, “But that's ok… look at what all that work’ll get you. Callouses and torn fingernails. It's a glamorous life I lead.” He chuckled then, “But hey, you're fit enough for it… if you persevere, you can have hands like this, too.”

Not that Cullen would actually _want_ that. He rather liked Dorian's hands the way they were… and the rest of him, too. And it seemed that Dorian liked him, too and that was… well, that was just a mystery to him. One he wanted to ask about in their little game, but held back. No sense in jinxing it.

\----

“I might pass,” he chuckled, and cast a glance backward as Barris and Blackwall stepped out from the room, “and there’s the end of the break.” Dorian looked back up at Cullen and smiled, “maybe some coffee later?”

“Cullen,” Samson prompted, “can you run the hydros again right quick? There was a bit of a leak going and I want to make sure everything’s alright.”

“Work calls,” Dorian murmured, and pushed off the railing, “be back in a bit.”

Just walking away from Cullen made him feel colder. He’d liked knowing the other man was close. He’d liked the little talk and way Cullen blushed sometimes. He just liked it, and he wished they’d stopped for the night so they could have some coffee and maybe a few minutes in actual private. Something like that. _Anything_ like that, really.

\----

“Yeah, sure. Can't have a leak,” Cullen answered Samson easily enough, but his eyes were focused past him where Dorian was disappearing into the ready room, presumably to go below and grab his camera. The time they'd had was all too short, but that was the way this was just going to have to be. Learning more, getting to know one another, that was going to have to happen in fits and starts… and undercover. It wasn't ideal - it was what it was.

And that's how it was. For weeks as they worked on fishing grounds that were just ok, dragging out this part of the season longer than they'd had to in a while. The Kaaras and The Sundermount both had reached their quotas already, their crews off and enjoying free time in the break before they'd all go out again to fish snow crab in the winter. Cullen was ready for a rest, but he couldn't say he wasn't a little selfishly pleased - when The Herald finally reached quota (or when king crab season was up and they couldn't be out legally any more, whichever came first), he'd go home for a while and Dorian… well, he had no idea what Dorian would do or where he would go. Time alone was short here, the long hours punctuated only briefly with small moments, but at least Cullen got to see him each day. During break? Who knew.

Still, they made the most of it. The little ‘getting to know you’ game continued, one calling out a topic and the other answering when they were reasonably certain they were out of earshot. Dorian now knew that Cullen had broken three bones in his lifetime, had two sisters and a brother, four nieces and nephews, had dogs as a kid, liked to read mysteries and non-fiction, had been knitting since he was 10 and that it had started with repairing nets, that he mostly despised vegetables, that he thought breakfast food the best food, and a myriad of other random things. In return, Cullen knew Dorian's responses to all those things. They were… shallow questions, but still, the pieces started to fit together, and Cullen was just as convinced that Dorian was a singular person as he had been when they started all this. Which, of course, only made him want to know more about the man.

If the crew thought it odd that the deck boss and his number one enemy were suddenly getting along and chatting together between strings, they didn't show it. Well, at least most of them didn't. Every now and then, he'd catch Alistair watching them, head tilted and eyebrow cocked as if he was trying to work out a riddle. Varric, too, would shoot them amused, questioning looks from time to time, which always made Cullen's stomach knot. As easygoing and open as the dwarf was, he was also part of the show and sharp as a tack. But Cullen was always careful to turn his mic off if the conversation got too personal, which was all the time, so he tried not to worry. Too much.

Weeks of fair to middling fishing passed by. They had an offload and turned right back around. Morale was… it wasn't bad, necessarily, but everyone was exhausted. Tempers flared and men snapped, as they do when people share such a close space for so long under stressful conditions. It was part of the job, and while everyone knew it would pass one way or the other, that didn't make it easier. Much to everyone's surprise, though, Cullen was the least affected, and showed a patience that was unprecedented for him. He'd yell out warnings and orders, of course, but not out of frustration or anger. Not usually, anyway. What once would have incited war on the deck was called out and managed with relative calm. Even when Dorian weaved in and out during work or did something ridiculous for a shot, Cullen would just call out, “ _Dorian_ ,” in a warning tone and that would be it.

They were tired. Cullen was tired to his core. But he was happy… happier than he could remember being in a long time, despite the long season and the boat's uncertain future. He actually… he _liked_ who he was and how he felt, now that he'd found someone he could be open with. Even if those periods of being open were rare, they were precious and fulfilling in a way he hadn't expected.

But now… now they were running up against the wire. To make quota before this season closed meant one more grueling period of grinding - so that's what they did. It had been 30 hours since Cullen had had any real sleep - since any of them had - but they were so close. The crew decided together to just push through and hopefully get it done, but Maker, Cullen was just so tired. The last few strings of the season found him fighting to remain alert, nodding off between pots and passing out completely in the ready room for the few minutes between strings.

“Last pot of the string coming up. Barris, get ready to hook it,” he called out in a voice hoarse from overuse, smoking, and exhaustion.

_Maker, I'm sleeping for two weeks straight when I get off this boat._


	11. Sea Legs [3 of 4]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Frozen Sea is a dangerous place, and even the most experienced fishermen can miss things once in a while.

This grinding business was certainly not at all the kind of fun that usually came with the word ‘grinding.’ The cold, wet, sometimes annoying, and long hours were enough to make Dorian question why in the Void he’d agreed to this. It wasn’t even like he was doing much of the heavy lifting, either. He had his camera, moved in and out as necessary (sometimes with that warning ‘ _Dorian_ ’ instead of his surname being shouted), but the crewmen were the ones having to do all the super terrible and difficult stuff. He watched them pull reasonable, sometimes crappy, numbers and endure the spikes and lulls in mood. He watched them get shitty at each other and just want to go home, and Dorian certainly understood.

Though... as bad as this trip had been to start, it was certainly much better now. Those little moments with Cullen, either over coffee or during breaks, were somehow priceless. It was one of the slowest ways to get to know someone, but considering they couldn’t flirt outwardly, they were doing reasonably well. They talked. Dorian learned about broken bones and what foods Cullen did and didn’t like. He told stories about vowing to live in his closet when he was seven, and how he took three juice boxes and a pack of cookies to live off of indefinitely. Dorian also told him that his only broken bone had been a finger after an unfortunate rugby incident at school and why sports weren’t exactly his idea of fun after that. It was small stuff in the long run, but still things not many other people knew.

But now... now the end was in sight. Some of the other boats were already done, and the producers and cameramen on them had handed over their footage. They were allowed to leave, go back home for the break while the production team stuck around to sort through what had been filmed so they could start going over the thousands of hours of footage, though Dorian knew he’d end up at that same flea-ridden motel. Thank the Maker the team were staying around.

He’d be alone, but... that was better than the alternative. As much as he loved Felix, he couldn’t go back to hiding in his guest room. Some sketchy port town and even sketchier place to stay would do better. Besides, maybe it would do him some good. He could get a lot of interesting pictures, after all, and no one to bother him while he did it. Dorian could get behind that.

For the moment, though, Dorian was tired. So, so, tired. Everything hurt, and he just wanted to close his eyes and lean against the pole that was currently keeping him upright. For the most part, the stationary cameras got the sweeping shots of the guys working, but Dorian had to stick around should something kick off, or... whatever. He just wanted to sit. Or lay. Something. So he just watched, quiet and out of the way now, and tried his best to stay alert. They were pulling the same sort of mediocre numbers, so Dorian didn’t really need to be in the middle of it. Not until he heard the words ‘last pot.’ That usually got some reaction, so he picked up his camera and pointed it toward the rail.

As per Cullen’s prompting, Barris threw the hook and pulled that last pot up through the spinning wheel of the block so it could be hauled up over the side. Everyone seemed happy, though exhausted, and Dorian smiled a bit as he focused his camera on Cullen and Barris and the block as they turned to watch the pot come up. Last pot of the string meant a break, even for twenty minutes, and everyone was already looking forward to coffee and sitting for a minute. They weren’t... they weren’t paying attention.

For half a second Dorian thought he might have been seeing things when he saw the line slip from the spinning wheel of the block. No. _No_. The line, the one that was pulling up the actual _ton_ of steel, had slipped free and was sliding along the rail. It would... Maker…

“Cullen!” Dorian shouted as he started to run over, “the line! It’s off the block! Move!”

His heart was in his throat, and for a moment, he wondered if he could even be heard over the machinery and water and for how sore his throat was. Like the others, he’d been smoking too much and laughing too loudly at whatever they could to keep their spirits up. In the span of a second and a half, Dorian heard the story Cullen had told him before about going over the side, but this was so much more dangerous. For how taut that line was... it could cut him in half. Or worse.

\----

Several things happened all at once, too fast to process or parse in the moment. Everything was moving along the way it should have. Barris had hooked the line as he always did, fed it through the block as he always did. Alistair pulled the buoys and started the line in the coiler while Cullen waited for the powerful hydraulics to pull the steel cage up so he could grab it with the crane - like he always did. There was nothing remarkable at all about this pot.

Until, of course, there was.

At the moment when the chain Cullen needed to grab to haul the pot on board surfaced, he heard two things: a curious whispery whiny-scratching sound and Dorian's voice, high and breaking and full of fear, calling his name. And something about… the line and the block. The line that was being coiled right behind him. The block that was right beside him.

_Move!_

His body reacted to that command before his mind did, and he dropped to the deck like a rock. A pressure, sudden and _hot,_ caught him as he fell. Something biting grazed his temple and ear, snapping that red cap right off his head and yanking out several hairs for good measure before Cullen managed to duck completely below… the line.

That should… that should have been in the block, not unspooling above him, dragging across the rails as The Herald steamed forward and over 800 pounds of steel and crab fell back to the sea floor somewhere behind them. It all had happened so fast - his mind just barely registered what happened as the end of the rope ran out above him and slipped off into the dark waters below.

_That could have killed me. That could have carried me down with it. Who would have told my parents?_

That old surge of life or death adrenaline ignited his nerves though the danger had passed, and the world went wavy before amber eyes as Cullen felt his stomach drop and twist. He wasn't sick, but it was a near thing. The deck around him, the men yelling, it all seemed miles away as he processed.

_I didn't do anything wrong, and yet…_

But that was how it was. You could do everything right and still end up dead on the Frozen Seas. Hadn't he said as much that first day?

He tried to laugh it off as he rose, but the laugh came out a thin sound of distress and his legs were like mush, weak and shaking. His efforts were for naught, and he found himself falling back down on the deck, face ashy and bloodless and burning were the rope had grazed him before he fell.

He'd need a moment… just to breathe… before he could rise. Cullen just sat there, concentrating on controlled breathing and slowing a heartbeat that was running away with him.

_I could have died._

\----

The others were already trying to rehook the line, and Dorian could hear Trev on the speaker asking what happened. He didn’t really process any of it, though. Instead, Dorian made it to where Cullen was on the deck and he reached out a hand to rest it on the man’s shoulder, “Cullen?” He asked with a shaking voice, “can you hear me?”

He’d only seen the man go down, and it all happened so fast he had to wonder if Cullen was even conscious. “Come on,” Dorian prompted, “look at me.”

_He could have died_.

That story Cullen told him spun through Dorian’s mind like it was on a reel, and he looked up as Blackwall and Alistair came up. They were probably more effective than Dorian was, he understood that, but there was still the part of him that wanted to pull Cullen close so he knew he was okay.

“Cullen?” Dorian asked again.

\----

His mind was blank and his eyes… they weren't seeing the deck of The Herald. They saw rubble and ash, and his ears were full of a horrible buzzing sound that drowned everything out. His body was numb, but there was a heat to his face, and he felt something wet and warm running down his chin. Blood.

_Knight-Captain! Knight-Captain Rutherford! Can you hear me? Come on, look at me!_

_Cullen?_

But _that_ voice didn't belong with the scene. It stood out and pulled Cullen out of memory and into the now. Amber eyes closed as He shook his head sharply to clear out the past. This wasn't then. That time was long gone. Kirkwall was done. This was now.

The men crowded around him, he could feel their presence, and next to him…

_Dorian._

Cullen took another steadying breath and opened his eyes, slowly turning his head to look into a pair of frightened grey eyes. Dorian looked almost as shaken as Cullen felt, but he'd been the one to call out. Maker, he'd…

“You saved my life,” he said, voice smaller and shakier than he'd heard in a long time. One pale hand raised to grip the back of Dorian's neck, seeking out some kind of connection, proof that he was alive. The skin under his fingers was warm, _real_ , and reassuring. “You saved my life,” he repeated, “Thank you.”

And then there were hands on him, making sure he hadn't hurt his neck before hauling him to his feet and down into the galley. Trev must have set the boat to jogging, because he was suddenly there and in Cullen's face, staring into his eyes to make sure he wasn't concussed. It was a blur, but by the time Trev seemed satisfied no real damage had been done and someone thrust a cup of coffee into Cullen's hands, he was getting his bearings.

“Maker, it's just a rope burn,” he finally managed as he took an exploratory sip of coffee.

“Better safe than sorry. We could have been less one deck boss there. What in the Void happened?” Trev returned.

\----

Dorian had elected to drop his camera back in his room and made his way back toward the galley just as Trev was talking to Cullen. The man looked shaken, and he wanted nothing more than to sit beside him him wrap an arm around his shoulders. That touch on deck had been brief, but good. Knowing that Cullen reached out to _him_ , it made his stomach ache that bit more.

“The line pulled out of the block,” Dorian answered, “slipped. It just happened really fast.”

He took a seat at the table across from Cullen and gave them both a look. It was just... fuck, the thought made Dorian feel too shaky, too, and the rope hadn’t even been anywhere near him. He couldn’t imagine what would have happened if he hadn’t been watching.

“Are you okay?” he asked Cullen more gently.

\----

“Fine,” Cullen nodded, “I'm fine.” His voice was low and he held Dorian's gaze maybe a heartbeat longer than he should have, considering how many eyes were on them both right now, but he was just so… grateful. Grateful that he'd gotten the warning he needed before it was too late. What he wanted to do was reach across that table and hold Dorian's hands in his own. What he wanted to do was to scoot around the bend of that bench like Dorian himself had done once before and lay his head on the man's chest to hear his heartbeat and further cement the fact that Cullen was there, that he was _alive._

Instead, he let his lips curl into the slightest of smiles, soft and, he hoped, at least a little reassuring before his voice rose and he laughed for the benefit of the men around him. “Lucky to still have an ear, but fine.”

“An ear? Fuck, Rutherford, you're lucky you're not pieces in the sea,” Samson interjected, voice a strange mix of teasing and worry. “... I looked at that damn thing a hundred fucking times. It was working…”

“I'm the one who threaded the line…” Barris started before Cullen waved a hand and leaned back in his seat. The part of his face and ear that the line had skimmed throbbed now that his blood was circulating, but in the grand scheme of things, he was glad to feel that ache. He might not be so happy about it tomorrow, but that was a thought for another time.

“Shit happens, even when you do everything right,” Cullen cut in. “No sense in blame. The pot?”

“We lost it. The buoys were off already,” Alistair answered.

_Fuck._

“Trev?” Cullen asked, and he hoped the captain knew what he was after. In the long run, a single pot shouldn't make or break a season, but they were right at the edge, and so much was riding on this season.

“It's close, but I think we'll make quota,” he answered, voice a little strained. He'd caught Cullen's meaning, then.

By now, the shake was almost out of his hands - the coffee, however bitter - had helped, and he felt mostly together. It had been close, but he'd been _close_ many times before.

“Well, alright then,” Cullen sighed and moved to stand, “That deck’s not gonna secure itself. What's say we get ready to go home?”

\----

It was such a surreal experience to see the others tease Cullen about it, and to see the other man act like it was no big deal. Samson had put a fine point on it, though the ‘pieces in the sea’ made Dorian want to be sick, and he almost argued as everyone made affirmative noises and set to heading back out. It was like... like what happened didn’t matter. Like it was someone tripping in the cafeteria and being laughed at but then forgotten when the next thing happened. Maker only knew if it had been him he’d be under his bed and not come out for three days because he could have _died_. Spectacularly.

No, no this... it wasn’t right. Dorian wanted to say something, tell Cullen maybe he should stay back, but they were already slapping him on the shoulder and out the door. Now he was feeling sick again, and the laughter that the others had let off was ringing in his ears. Dorian didn’t want to go back out there again. He didn’t want to be there when the others came back in, either, and he got to his feet to head for the rooms.

The sight of that line heading right for Cullen played over and over in his head and it mixed with that story of him going over. He could have seriously seen a man die ten minutes ago, and Dorian wasn’t quite ready for that. The door he opened wasn’t his and Varric’s, but it would do for now. So he sat down on the first bunk he saw, pulled his knees up to his chest, and squeezed his eyes shut so tight that his contacts throbbed a bit and Dorian just tried to push it out of his head.

Cullen was _fine_. He was out, doing what he always did.

He just had a welt across his face and looked a bit like... like someone who almost _died_.

“Maker,” he breathed against his knees, “don’t... that’s not funny.”

\----

It didn’t take long before the deck was secured - the stack had been checked over, the sorting table locked down, and the holding tanks all sealed off. Cullen kept his chin up while they worked, everyone full of that giddy energy that came from a sudden rush of adrenaline and close calls. They picked up their usual cadence, the usual banter, though Cullen knew a lot of that teasing was for him, done instinctively so he wouldn't start thinking too hard on what could have been. He'd done that himself for others before, and recognized that particular tactic. On camera, it would look almost heartless, but it was anything but.

But that thought did bring another to mind. _Dorian_. The man had looked… scared. And with good reason - Cullen was certain Dorian had never seen anything like that before. And the way his eyes looked, that pained expression on his face when Cullen moved to go back to work. It looked like he wanted to say something, but he’d held back. If they'd been alone....

But they hadn't been. So Cullen worked through that surge of adrenaline, pushing the implications of what happened back do they could just be done with this miserable season. Maybe they'd have better luck after the break.

Cullen lingered a bit on deck after everyone else went below to turn in. He had five hours until he had to relieve Trev in the wheelhouse, so he really should head to bed, but he needed time. Just a little time before his body was calm enough to even contemplate sleep. He stood in the spot where he'd almost been lost - that was his spot, death be damned - and lit a cigarette. His eyes wandered the deck as he smoked, working to slow his mind. A bit of red caught his attention, and he bent to retrieve the knit cap from where it had fallen when the line snapped it off his head.

_Too close._

That tremor was back in his hands as he stared at his hat. If he'd been a bit slower, if Dorian hadn't seen it happen and said something… he'd have lost more than his cap. Ice twisted in his gut, and suddenly, he didn't feel _fine._ He didn't feel fine at all. Something. He needed something warm and comforting and around him. He needed Dorian. The cigarette was extinguished, less than half smoked, and he went belowdecks with the thought that he might find the man in the galley and they could at least talk. He just wanted the man near right now.

Alistair was the only one in the galley, though, and Cullen tried not to sound disappointed when he greeted the deckhand.

“You should get some sleep, kid,” Cullen said as he entered the galley.

“After that?” he asked, and Cullen saw that he was a little too pale. It seemed Dorian wasn't the only one who hadn't seen anything like that before. “Pretty sure it's gonna take a while to get to sleep.”

“Try. You'd be surprised,” Cullen answered, moving through the galley toward the hall that led to the bunks. He should stay to make sure the greenhorn wasn't going to lose it over a close call, but he wasn't sure he had it in him yet and didn't want to make things worse. No, if he couldn't have a moment alone with Dorian, the next best thing would be to try to sleep himself.

Still, he was tempted to walk down to the room Dorian shared with Varric with some bullshit excuse - _mic’s broken, can you fix it?_ \- to pull the man out. He shook his head as he opened the door to his bunk and closed it behind him. Turning, he realized he wasn't alone.

_Of course._

“You're in my room again,” he teased gently, smiling at the man sitting on his bed and reaching to turn his mic off.

\----

“It’s quiet in here,” Dorian pointed out from where he was still buried in his knees, “I couldn’t... the others are loud.”

He lifted his head after a moment and looked Cullen over. He still looked pale and that welt from the line didn’t look any better than it had a few minutes ago. One hand lowered and patted the spot beside him, “Care to sit on your own bunk?”

\----

He shouldn't. Cullen knew he shouldn’t be quite _this_ alone with Dorian, not with how raw he still felt or for the fact that they were technically still working until the season ended. No, he really shouldn't.

But of course he did.

He sat, perhaps a little wooden, in that spot Dorian had patted beside him and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. For all the wanting to be alone with Dorian he'd done earlier, he wasn't sure what to do with himself now. But Maker, the last hour had been so hard - nearly dying tended to be like that - and he just… he just needed some contact. Something to soothe and ground himself. And if the way Dorian looked was anything to go by, he wasn't the only one.

Cullen rested his head on one hand and moved the other, slowly, to wrap around Dorian’s. This was the closest they'd been in weeks, and Cullen's heart jumped a bit with energy that had nothing to do with what had happened earlier. “Are you… ok?” he asked, voice quiet and soft.

\----

As Cullen sat down beside him, Dorian could feel that wash of heat and the closeness. They just sat, for a moment, then warmth around his hand. Cullen’s. He leaned into that warmth and brushed his cheek against Cullen’s shoulder. Mostly, he just wanted that warmth and that proof that Cullen was there with him. He was okay. He was there and alive.

“No,” he breathed as he shut his eyes again, “you could have died. Then they laughed. I... Maker, that thing almost killed you.”

Dorian squeezed that hand in his, then turned to look up at Cullen. He still looked pale, and those honey brown eyes were bright and so, so beautiful. The man really was so beautiful. Completely. To think something could have happened…

\----

The way Dorian brushed his cheek against Cullen's shoulder, how breathy and small his voice was… something clicked deep inside Cullen's core, and scarred lips parted as a slow sort of realization struck. Safety had always been paramount for the deck boss, but it had been out of concern for his crew. His goal each year was the same - to make sure _they_ made it back. His own well being had always been secondary to that, lesser. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he had no one waiting for him - no spouse, no children, no prospects. The other men on The Herald had those things, and more.

Or it was because of Kirkwall. Everything came back to Kirkwall, didn't it?

Either way, when Dorian spoke, Cullen realized that somehow, someone else cared if he made it. Someone else was invested in his safety who wasn't related to him by blood. It was… odd. It wasn't that Cullen _wanted_ to get hurt or worse - he didn't have a death wish, quite the contrary, he rather liked drawing breath on a regular basis. But he wasn't living for himself, not really, and hadn't been for a while.

And now he felt the responsibility of that, of taking care of _himself_ as well as his charges, when Dorian squeezed his hand. Cullen had been appropriately scared, sure, but he'd outwardly waved it off and went back to work. _No big deal. These things happen_.

And then this. _You could have died. Maker, that thing almost killed you._

Dorian… cared. The shaking in his voice wasn't the adrenaline pumping because of a near miss - it was… Maker, it was actual fear for Cullen's safety. Cullen's.

The desire to soothe, to smooth, to reassure welled up, strong and drowning out all else. That awkward feeling of not knowing what to do melted away without a second thought, and he twisted to wrap his arms around Dorian and pull him in closer, gently but firmly. With care, as if the man were precious. And he was, if Cullen was honest. The frustrating, sharp-tongued, wonderful, beautiful man in his arms was important to Cullen - almost vital in a way Cullen himself couldn't describe.

“Hey,” he started, voice low and calming as he buried his face into dark waves of hair to breathe the man in. Something about the man's scent, the man himself, just had a way of filling Cullen's heart, smoothing over all the seams and cracks there. “It didn't. Ok? It didn't. I'm here… I'm ok - because of you.” Cullen ran a hand in large, slow circles over Dorian's back. “You can't get rid of me that easily. I still haven't seen any of your photography, right?”

\----

He let out a small sound that might have been a laugh, though maybe not, and just buried his face in against Cullen’s neck. Both arms moved so Dorian could wind his arms around that strong body, and he scooted that little bit closer. Honestly, he’d have crawled into Cullen’s lap for a few minutes if he knew it might help. Anything to be closer right now.

“Are _you_ alright?” Dorian asked against Cullen’s neck, “you looked shaken up. I mean, I get it, but…”

In the few weeks they’d known each other, Dorian had never seen Cullen actually _scared_ before. Upset, mad, tired, frustrated, and the whole gamut of excited to displeased, but never scared. Not really. And when he’d looked like he wasn’t even there for that couple of seconds? Dorian just squeezed him closer and tangled his fingers in Cullen’s shirt, “are you okay?”

\----

“I'm…” Cullen started and stopped, moving to nuzzle his face in against the smooth skin of Dorian's neck. He'd been about to say _I'm fine_ , but… was that really the case? He took a few breaths before pulling back just enough to look into those beautiful eyes that were plainly edged with concern. _How did I ever think he was… shallow or fake?_

“I’m… the deck boss. I'm supposed to brush it off, to say I'm fine… and I am,” he began again, nodding as he spoke honestly, “Most of me, anyway. I've… trust me… I've been through worse.” A hesitant hand raised to brush a stray hair back from Dorian's temple and he let a little smile tug the corners of his mouth upwards before he continued, “But part of me is still shaking and, Maker, it was glad to see you in here.”

\----

“Was it?” Dorian managed to tease a bit, “not going to throw me out this time?”

Both his hands tangled in Cullen’s shirt a little more and he turned his head to press a soft kiss just at the other man’s pulse. It wasn’t racing, but Dorian could tell his heart was beating a bit faster than normal. Oddly, it was reassuring. Dorian had never felt reassured by someone’s pulse against his lips before. Then again, normally when that was happening he wasn’t just curled up with them. Usually there was a bit more biting involved.

\----

“It was… _is_ ,” Cullen returned, before that smile melted and his brows pulled together in concern. “Is that ok to say?” He wasn't sure, after all, just _what_ they were. They were in the strange territory somewhere between friends and maybe a little more. The ‘maybe a little more’ part… they hadn't openly discussed that since the night of that kiss. And frankly, considering how he felt after what just happened - unsettled and a little shaky, but still warmed by the knowledge that Dorian had been so concerned for him - he just… he just wanted to be close, no labels or firm territory needed.

“Because if… if it _is_ ok… to say,” he ventured, and heard himself stammer as heat rose in his face, making that rope burn throb with each heartbeat. “I just,” he continued, licking his lips nervously, “I'd just like to lay here a while. With… you. If that's ok.”

\----

A smile spread across Dorian’s lips and he leaned up to kiss Cullen’s forehead beside some of that rope burn. “I’d like that too, I think,” he agreed, “and I don’t think either of us should be alone right now, you know?” Something, something, trauma or whatever. It was a good excuse, since it would probably take someone walking in to get Dorian to leave right now.

“I might, just…” Dorian moved a bit to get out of the thicker pants he was wearing over another set to combat the cold. The ones underneath were softer, more worn, and he peeled out of the thick layers so he could comfortably stretch out across Cullen’s bed. Everything he wore close to the skin was soft and nice, and now that he had Cullen closer, he didn’t exactly feel like he needed four layers to stay warm. “That’s better, now. I hate sleeping all bundled up... makes me feel like I can’t breathe.”

\----

While Cullen couldn't say that seeing Dorian peeling layers off didn't… stir things up a bit, right now wasn't about that. It was about the need for comfort and closeness more than anything else. Still, it had been a while since Cullen had seen the man under the layers, and he smiled to himself as he remembered that yes, Dorian was quite… trim.

He also had a good idea. Cullen wanted… needed… to be close, and those inches of fabric… well, they were neither needed nor comfortable. So, he kicked his boots off and pulled all his own outerwear off - extra pants, sweater, long sleeved shirt - until he was down to an old pair of jeans and an undershirt. Cullen tugged at the hem of the plain white t shirt to pull it down from where it had shifted up before he rubbed a hand nervously over the tattoos that covered his left arm. He wasn't used to being quite this bare, literally or figuratively, and for a moment he thought _what now?_ as he took in the sight of Dorian on _his bed._ It was what he'd asked for, but Maker, it'd been so long since he'd done even this much that, for a breath, he was a little lost.

_Just lie down. It'll take care of itself._

And it did. Of course it did. As out of practice as he was, there was nothing more natural in the world than two people seeking solace from one another. He sunk down on the bed, hesitating just a moment before he remembered the earlier desire to just hear Dorian's heart beating, so Cullen moved to rest his head on Dorian's chest as one arm circled his waist, fingers gripping the soft fabric of his shirt.

And then Cullen listened. He listened to that beating heart and felt the rise and fall of Dorian's chest and just felt… _right_. _Alive._

“This is nice,” he murmured and dared to brush a kiss against Dorian's chest, over his heart, as amber eyes slid closed.

\----

If someone had asked him... what? Two months ago? If this was a situation Dorian would have put himself in, he would have laughed. Hard. Imagining Cullen curled up with him and their arms around each other was something Dorian did in the quiet when everyone else was asleep. This was never something he’d imagined would actually happen. And yet... and yet the bed was infinitely warmer with Cullen next to him and that weight on his chest was comforting. He’d never have expected this. Ever.

What it should have been was annoying, however. Yes, Dorian had boyfriends in the past who rather liked a good cuddle but he’d never really been much of one to like to be pinned down and held in place under body weight. Then again, most of his exes weren’t built like Cullen was and usually liked their cuddling to be post-coital in nature and only for as long as it took to fall asleep. Something like this? Something meant for comfort? That was a whole new game. It was new rules and everything else, and something had changed to where Dorian just curled his arms around strong shoulders and held Cullen as close as he could.

“It is,” Dorian replied as he trailed his fingers through those curls and hugged Cullen even just a bit closer, “you should sleep for a while, though, after all that. I can... stay for a while, maybe?”

\----

“Mmmm,” Cullen murmured his assent. Amazingly enough, he was already half-asleep as it was. Though there was still a little itch in the back of his mind warning him that this was too close for what they were, too close for what he was, the desire to stay was greater. _Just this once_ , he thought, _just this once is ok, considering._ “Please stay.”

His body felt heavy, but in a good way, and he found himself settling down further into that embrace. He was so tired, and it was so warm. So comfortable. So… Dorian. For the time being, he was at peace with himself and the world. The last time he'd felt like that was long ago and far away, and he just wanted to hold onto that while he could. Before he had to get up and go back to his normal life, which was starting to seem more and more… gray. Lackluster. Empty where it hadn't felt that way before.

Curious.

A sigh escaped scarred lips as Cullen hooked one leg around Dorian's just to be that much closer, warning in his mind be damned. But thinking about going back to his life had him wondering…

“After we offload this time, where will you go? We'll have maybe a month before next season…”

\----

The lying there like that was nice. Dorian took the time to absently run his fingers through soft curls so he could learn how they felt against his fingers, and he let his hand slip down so he could rub at the knot that was at the base of Cullen’s skull. He’d seen the man nursing it before, and to feel it now made him frown a bit as he worked it gently. Those little things, the knowing how to touch or be there, felt good. Dorian was actually warm, not just from his own body heat, and it helped relax him. He hadn’t been so relaxed in weeks.

Then... questions.

Where would he go? The quick answer was nowhere. He had nowhere _to_ go. Sure, he could have gone to Felix’s, but he didn’t have the money for a flight and couldn’t justify making his friend pay that for a few weeks of him crashing in the guest room. Never mind... if he was there, his parents would know. They always knew, and he couldn’t deal with that. Dorian had only just _really_ gotten himself somewhere. Going back would only be embarrassing now.

“Same place,” he answered, “same... motel. The production staff have standing rooms, and I’ll stay there until everyone comes back.” Dorian took a breath then and pressed his fingers against that knot, “what about you? Going home to sleep for two weeks?”

\----

Amber eyes closed and Cullen exhaled a breath through parted lips for the way that Dorian's fingers were working into that damn knot. It hurt - releasing all that tension was bound to - but it hurt in the _best way_. After a while, though, the pain faded, and he was left feeling loose and wishing he could have some of the same treatment on the other sore and knotty parts of him. Another time, perhaps.

 

“Too bad,” he started and then grunted as Dorian's fingers found another painful spot to work out. “It's too bad that's all we have.” And it was - that hotel had more than a few colorful nicknames from the locals. _Murder Hotel_ being one of them, though Cullen couldn't remember there ever having been an actual murder there. Still, in a town that was only truly busy 4 months out of the year… it was the best they could do, apparently.

“I'm for home, yes. And I'll sleep as much as the blessed Maker allows, though that's never as much as I want.”

He was silent for a while, letting Dorian work through those knots in his neck and feeling himself grow heavier with sleep.

“Maybe… maybe I'll see you when I come into town?”

Wouldn't that be nice? Off the boat and _not working_.

\----

“Do you live close by?” He asked gently as his fingers sought out another place in Cullen’s neck. For the moment Dorian was content to speak softly to help lull Cullen to sleep. All those little groans and sighs and shifting against him were so sweet, and he couldn’t help but smile for them. To see this big, strong man be so soft and sweet was... humbling. It really was. And it was really nice to know that _he_ was the reason Cullen had relaxed.

\----

“Just about 45 minutes,” he answered, and his own ears could hear the sleep in his voice. “I have to come into town sometimes. To pick up parts for my car or to… _ah, right there_ … meet Trev. Maker, that's nice.”

Another moment passed, and Cullen's mind wandered to home. The trip took him through the Brecilian Forest, and sometimes he'd stop and find a place - _his place -_ to just sit and think. It was, all in all, a beautiful place. Haunting… but beautiful.

“I pass through the national park - the forest, you know - so it's a nice drive. Scenic. Locals say the trees are all alive. I don’t know about that, but they're _old_. Pretty. You should find some time to go. I bet you'd like it.”

\----

That certainly caught Dorian’s attention. He loved that kind of thing, despite not being much of one for camping or anything like that, but he did like nature. Mostly. He liked nature when it came to filming, anyway. “I should,” he agreed, “maybe you can show me? If you won’t be too busy recuperating, hm?”

His fingers dipped under the collar of Cullen’s shirt to start finding those places in his shoulders and his back, and Dorian frowned for all the tension he could feel. “Maker, you’re tense,” Dorian teased, “one of these days I’ll need to pin you down and work some of these knots out, I think.”

\----

Cullen was teetering now on the edge of sleep, floating off in a way that rarely happened - usually he stayed up until he couldn't any more and crashed. This was far more enjoyable, to say the least.

“Pin me down,” he muttered, voice thick, “sure.” If this much was so nice, how would it feel to have Dorian's hands working out all those other places? A little smile crossed his face and he was silent for a while, just breathing and moving closer to sleep. Right now, everything about Dorian was what Cullen needed. His hands, the sound of his heart, the warmth of him, even his scent.

“You smell nice,” he murmured and nuzzled his face in against the soft fabric of the man's shirt, “How do you smell so nice? Everyone else… bait and rubber and old coffee… not you, though.”

\----

He chuckled for that. Cullen was, at least in these moments, genuinely sweet. It was the last thing he might have pictured himself thinking that first day, but so many little things were so endearing. How had that happened? Dorian had never known _anyone_ who was endearing. Sure, there were people he found attractive and thus their otherwise abhorrent traits were lessened in the haze of rose colored glasses, but this? This was something else. This was an actual _good man_ with _good qualities_ that didn’t have a list of red flags a mile long.

“It’s this amazing thing called cologne,” Dorian teased, “I don’t know that the others around here might know the word. Especially if I’m going to be wrapped in rubber all day, I’d rather not smell like it.”

Both arms tightened around Cullen then, and Dorian took a breath. There was something about this moment, with how sweetly Cullen nuzzled into him and talked to him like they’d been lovers forever, that made his chest hurt. It wasn’t the content of the talk, since they were still getting to know each other, but there was something else there that seemed so intimate and familiar in a way Dorian couldn’t place. It was like they were comfortable, somewhat, already. He’d never felt that before.

“Go to sleep,” he prompted in a low tone, “you’ve been awake way longer than any normal person should have been. I’ll stay with you until you wake up.”

\----

“‘s part of the… job… description,” Cullen managed before he gave in to that feeling of warmth and just… security, or something close to it. It was like nothing else he'd ever felt before, a rare opportunity to let go of all that control and constant responsibility - a release for his soul just as that little massage had been a release for his overworked muscles.

It was no wonder that the sleep that took him then was deeper and more restful than any in recent memory. Maybe once upon a time he'd slept that well, but that was _before_ \- before the crabbing, before the Templars, before Kirkwall. Years of self denial and bad memories and atonement stretched out behind him, keeping him awake at night and making any sleep he could get restless at best. But here, right now, with Dorian, he fell quickly and deeply, and _if_ he dreamt, his dreams weren't of ash and blood and the sound of mortars shaking the ground beneath him with the force of their explosions.

But then there was a pounding. It intruded into that sleep, an unwelcome interloper, and Cullen's brows furrowed as he fought waking. The longer he did, the more insistent the pounding grew, and soon it was accompanied by a voice.

“Cullen? Cullen, are you in there? Are you alright? I hope you're decent, because I'm coming in…”

_Trev._

Cullen's eyes snapped open wide, and his head jerked up from where it was still resting on Dorian's chest. In a moment, he realized two things: the arm he'd been laying on was entirely numb and he was _late_.

_Fuck. The alarm. I didn't set it._

“No - I'm fine, Trev. Overslept is all. Fuck, I'm sorry,” he called through the door and closed his eyes as he waited for the response. It was silent for a heartbeat, and Cullen could imagine Trev on the other side of the door, trying to decide if he believed that based on what had happened to Cullen only hours before.

_Don't come in. Don't come in. Do not come in._

Cullen had been… irresponsible to allow this - no, he'd _asked_ for this. The two of them both were jeopardizing their jobs and the show’s presence on The Herald right when the boat needed the extra income the most. It was everything Cullen had tried to prevent in the beginning, everything they'd both been trying to prevent now with the rules they'd given themselves - the rules they were now breaking.

_Shit._

“Alright,” came the voice on the other side of the door, “Meet you in the wheelhouse. _Soon._ ”

“Yep, pulling on my boots now,” Cullen called and collapsed back down on Dorian's chest, sighing with relief.

“Gotta go,” he said and took one final breath, gave Dorian one final squeeze, before pulling himself out of bed and tugging on his outerwear and boots. “Sorry for the, ah, rude awakening,” Cullen apologized as he hesitated at the door. What should he say? He'd just had arguably the best sleep of his life in this man’s arms, but that didn’t clarify or change what they were. “Please, stay here and get some sleep... if you want. Just, you know, be careful when you leave.” He could feel the blush heating his face and making that rope burn throb painfully as he continued, “And, um… thank you. For staying with me. That was… good.”

_Good doesn't even begin to cover it. Too bad it can't happen again._

\----

That knocking at the door was like some forgotten nightmare: parents pounding on the door, demands to be let in, having to sneak out (or sneak _someone else_ ) out a window, and run for cover under the morning sunlight. As he woke, Dorian’s heart pounded hard and it took him a moment to realize just _where_ he was.

_The Herald. Not home. It’s fine._

Trev. Trev knocking. Oh shit. If he came in and saw... Maker, Cullen was still wrapped halfway around him. If someone saw they’d be in serious trouble. This wasn’t professional. It wasn’t even in line with those rules they’d set for themselves. They’d just _acted,_ and now Dorian was sleeping in Cullen’s bed like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Then Cullen was talking and Dorian had to breathe to keep himself calm. No, no one was coming in. It was alright. Cullen was around him again and murmuring to him then getting dressed. He could hardly focus on what the other man was saying. He heard him, but it didn’t register.

“Cullen,” Dorian prompted softly, just in case Trev was still close to the door, “wait... just..”

He forced himself to wake up a bit more and lifted his hands to rub over his face before he stumbled to his feet and stumbled over to kiss Cullen’s cheek. He had to do something before the other man left. After something like that, after sharing a bed for even a few hours like that, there needed to be something better than just a quick word.

“Okay... now,” he offered with a sleepy smile that probably betrayed how not awake he really was, “go, before he gets suspicious, hm?”

\----

Cullen smiled for the sleepy sweetness of that kiss, but something in Dorian's tone made his heart clench a bit, and he hesitated. One hand raised to cup Dorian's face, his thumb brushing lightly over the man's cheek. “Are… are you ok?”

\----

He nodded and pressed his cheek into Cullen’s palm, “Not good with rude awakenings,” Dorian answered with a slight chuckle. That warm hand on his face felt nice, and he took a deep breath before he turned to kiss at Cullen’s fingertips, “Go get that taken care of. Varric’s probably asleep already and I’ll bring you up some coffee. No one’ll see anything.”

\----

There was a catch in Cullen's throat at those words - _no one’ll see anything_. He knew what Dorian meant; they had to do it this way, if there was to be anything at all. But Dorian… he wasn't something to _hide,_ and the deeper Cullen got, the more he wanted to just… no. No. This was the only way.

Still, secrets and hiding - they went against his nature.

Cullen nodded and coughed to clear that hitch away. “I would repeat that you should just go back to sleep,” he replied with a chuckle, “but I have a feeling you won't listen.” He hesitated just a moment more before he quickly kissed Dorian's forehead and turned. “Cream and sugar, please. See you in a few.”

And then he was out the door, down the hall, through the galley, and into the wheelhouse.

“You said you were just pulling on your boots,” Trev stated. He was exhausted, clearly, and Cullen was nearly an hour late for the shift change.

“I'm sorry,” Cullen replied, guilt apparent in his tone. “I just… I crashed when I got to my room and completely forgot to set my alarm.” The truth, from a certain perspective.

Trev stood and regarded him with tired but skeptical eyes for a long moment. “You're sure you're ok? With what happened? It's not like you to be late.”

“It just took a lot out of me. I'm fine, really. Go get some sleep… and tack another hour onto my shift.”

But Trev didn't move.

“Go,” Cullen prodded. “It's fine. Get some sleep.”

“If you're sure,” Trev answered with a sigh and turned to leave.

Alone, finally, Cullen fell into the captain’s chair. This was a fine mess he'd gotten himself into - hiding things from Trev would only work so long, and he was getting suspicious of _something_ if that look was anything to go by.

And then Cullen remembered the warmth of Dorian's embrace and the way he'd slept so peacefully in the man's arms, and it seemed… well worth the risk.


	12. Sea Legs [4 of 4]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the crew prepares for a month-long rest over the break, Dorian and Cullen share a moment or two before they part ways.

Dorian stayed in Cullen’s room for a little while, until he heard the other door shut and he knew Trev wouldn’t be up and doing, then pulled on another couple of layers to keep from getting too cold. Weirdly, he didn’t feel it so much for the moment. The remembered warmth of Cullen at his side and over his chest seemed to fortify him a little, and it made him smile. It was like that first time where he’d felt that heat in his hand from that one touch for a long time after Cullen had let him go. No one had ever gotten to him like that before, and maybe it was a symptom of not having been with someone in a while... still. Dorian couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever felt so content to just lie down with someone and it not devolve into at least kissing and a bit of heavy petting.

When he ventured out to the galley, Dorian took care to remake the pot of coffee that had been sitting for far too long and poured in the milk and about twice the sugar he would normally. Cullen liked his coffee sweet, he knew that for sure from their breakfast, and once he was done with it he looked down at the rather lonely looking mug. Was that... no, it wasn’t enough. So he quickly grabbed out a pan and some bread and set to making a quick fried egg sandwich. The last time any of them had really eaten was almost forgotten in Dorian’s mind, so long had it been, and Cullen would need something. He _should_ have something.

A while later he made his way up to the wheelhouse and set the mug and the plate on the dash, “Here,” he offered, “you should have something to eat.”

The camera facing the chair was a good reminder that he couldn’t kiss the sleepy looking man sitting there, and he couldn’t say anything that he might have wanted to either. Maybe the food and drink would do. Instead, Dorian thought it as loud as he could: _I’m here, I liked curling up in bed with you, I wish I could stay, I wish the camera wasn’t there, I’m sorry I threw off your schedule, I hope you’re alright_.

\----

The sandwich was a surprise, and Cullen let a slow, soft smile cross his face for the thought behind it before he remembered the camera aimed at him. That smile of gratitude slid into a smirk, or as close as he could get to one, anyway. “I must have hit my head when I fell, because it looks like you've cooked something for me,” he said with a teasing tone, and hoped Dorian understood. It touched him, surprisingly deeply, that the man had made him something, tired as Cullen knew he must have been. That Dorian was here at all was plenty, even if they had to do this dance for the camera. His mouth still smirked as he picked up the sandwich to take a bite, but his eyes were soft, and anyone paying attention could see the… care there.

Cullen never really had much of a poker face.   

\----

“You should eat,” he pointed out and leaned his hip against the dash off to the side of where Cullen sat, “did you need anything else?”

That warm look made him want to just grab Cullen’s hand and drag him back to bed. It would have been nice to curl up under those blankets together and actually rest for a while. Maker, he wanted that so much. He wanted to take Cullen’s hand, maybe kiss it, and tell him he was worried and that he’d enjoyed that moment.

\----

“And _you_ should sleep,” Cullen returned, “This is plenty… thank you.” He couldn't quite help the heartfelt tone in that. Maker, when he didn't have work to keep him occupied, he wasn't very good at playing it cool. “We'll be back in port in… oh, 5 or 6 more hours, and then you're free for a while. I'm sure you'll want to get the final offload, though, so go rest up.”

\----

He nodded, “Yeah, that’d be good,” Dorian agreed. With a quick glance to the camera, he took a few steps back so he wasn’t in range of being seen by it, then offered Cullen a warm smile of his own. “I’ll go _back_ to bed,” he told him. Not his bed. He should have, but... no. He wanted Cullen’s bed with its softer mattress and pillows that smelled like Cullen’s hair.

Maker, he was in stupidly deep already, wasn’t he?

Dorian gave a quick wave, then turned for the stairs, “Try not to get too excited up here on your own. Maker knows this seems to be where the party is.”

\----

Cullen's face froze mid-chew when Dorian smiled at him like that. _Beautiful. The man is beautiful. What's he even playing at with me?_ Whatever it was, it made Cullen's insides flip, and he shook his head as he swallowed just to clear it. “Some party,” he returned with a snort, “Party of one, anyway… but the food’s ok.” He fell silent for just a moment, head full of the things he wanted to say, but couldn't. Not now. Most of them amounted to how much Cullen just wanted more. More time. More warmth. More sinking into sleep with Dorian's arms around him and heartbeat lulling him to sleep. Just… _more._

“‘night, Dorian,” was all he could offer.

\----

“I’ll see you in a few hours, Cullen,” he answered with that same smile and headed back down.

It was easier to get to Cullen’s room now, and Dorian all but fell into that bunk. He didn’t even care about the layers he wore, and instead wound the blankets around himself and buried his face in one of the pillows. He should have taken out his contacts. He should have washed his face. What he did instead was pass out in Cullen’s bed with the smell of something earthy and like sea salt in his nose. It wasn’t as good a sleep as it had been when the other man had been with him, but when he woke a few hours later to the sound of the engines working Dorian felt better. Refreshed.

Now work called. They were pulling in for the offload and Dorian needed to be up to film it.

Slowly he dragged himself from the bed and peeked out the door. No one seemed to really be up yet, and Dorian ducked back into his and Varric’s room to change quickly and grab his camera. He made for the deck so he could film them pulling in, just for interest’s sake, and Dorian lit a cigarette as he hit the open air. This would be good.

\----

Alone in the wheelhouse. For hours. Cullen didn't have much to do outside of the occasional course correction, so he did what he always did - he let his mind wander. It started innocently enough. He wondered about the offload, whether it would be enough to make quota, whether it would be enough to guarantee that The Herald would have a chance to make it out next year. If they didn't hit it with this run, the next bit of fishing after the break would be their swan song.

And then, the break. He thought about going home, and how lonely it would seem now. He'd never thought of it as such before, but things had… changed. They'd changed despite his best efforts, efforts that were futile against whatever gravity it was that drew him to Dorian. And that's really what it felt like, some force of nature pulling at him, stormy at first, but now a gentle but inexorable sort of tugging like he'd never experienced before.

More than once in his time at the wheel, he caught himself thinking of what it might be like to curl up with the man in a proper bed - his bed, large and soft, at his home. Each time, he was aware of the stupid, moony grin on his face, and had to readjust his features to something more befitting of who he was to the show - stoic, no-nonsense, harsh. Of course, he wasn't even sure if he was that man any more, or if he ever really had been, but he had to try.

But then he'd remember that smile Dorian had given him before he'd gone back to bed - _Maker, he's… I bet he's in my bed -_ and that slow smile would spread again.

After what seemed like an age later, Trev made his way back to the wheelhouse.

“Right on time,” Trev teased. Sleep, it seemed, put the man in better spirits.

“Just park the boat,” Cullen shot back as he rose and walked away, stretching out muscles cramped from too much sitting as he did.

_A smoke. Then coffee. Or maybe I should see if Dorian is still…_

But there the man was, having a smoke of his own, alone on the deck. Cullen grinned as he walked up alongside the man.

“You must have read my mind,” he chuckled as he pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Did you… sleep well?”

\----

Dorian had the camera pointed off deck, and turned (while not turning the camera) and made a quick motion for Cullen to turn off his mic. He smiled that same sort of warm smile and took a drag off his cigarette as he gestured toward the rapidly approaching spit of land, “Wanted to get a bit of this. Best view until the tanks open to be weighed, right?” he answered as he watched Cullen flick off the mic, “and... I did. Quite well, actually.”

They were almost done. Maker, they were so close to being away from all the cameras. So close. Just... not close enough.

“Actually,” Dorian began, and looked over his shoulder. Where they were standing now would be covered by the stationary cameras. “I saw something the other day that, uh... as deck boss you should have a look at,” he offered, “come have a look before the others wake up and get going?”

\----

“Ah, sure. What is it?” Cullen asked, brows furrowed and head tilted just slightly to the side. What in the world could Dorian want him to see? Maybe he saw what went wrong with the block? No, if Samson didn't see anything wrong, Dorian certainly couldn't have. What then?

A mix of concern and curiosity swirled in his mind as he pocketed that pack of cigarettes absently and followed Dorian closer in to the steps that led up to the wheelhouse. When the man stopped, Cullen cast his eyes about expectantly. There was… nothing to see here. Nothing at all. One eyebrow arched as Cullen opened his mouth to speak, “Where…?”

\----

A smile touched Dorian’s lips and he stepped into Cullen’s space, “Here,” he answered, “just... where no one can see.”

One hand lifted to cup Cullen’s cheek, and Dorian looked into those beautiful amber eyes as his thumb brushed along the other man’s cheek. The view was good, and the footage would be nice too, but this... this was better. That same hand moved to tangle in the hair that escaped Cullen’s knit cap at the nape of his neck. It was dangerous to do something like this out in the more open areas and not in someone’s room, but... Dorian couldn’t wait. He couldn’t. Not after sleeping in Cullen’s bed and having the other man in his arms.

“If this is okay?”

\----

_Maker, yes._

Dorian's hands on him, tangled in his hair, that slight tug, and just… his presence so close set Cullen's blood to boiling, and he moved closer so he could feel the man's warmth. It was… intoxicating, and Cullen was half a heartbeat away from just losing himself. This was what he'd wanted. This was all he'd wanted.

But they were _on deck._

“No one… no one can see?” he managed to ask, breathlessly for all the _want_ making his heart pound and electrifying his nerves. Did it fucking matter right now? “Yes. Yes it's ok. Please.”

\----

He leaned in a bit more as his fingers tangled in those curls. Cullen was practically begging, and that was all the answer Dorian needed. A quick movement to set the camera down, and Dorian lifted his other hand to pull Cullen by both the collar of his shirt _and_ his hair. It wasn’t quite the angry kiss that the one in Cullen’s room had been, but it wasn’t exactly gentle either. He just... he _needed_ it. Dorian needed something after what had happened before they’d slept and after however long of trying to play like they weren’t actually interested.

It was madness, and Dorian was well beyond madness at this point.

Cullen’s lips were warm, despite the cold air and wind, and Dorian practically devoured them. In a few hours, they’d be on their separate ways, and he wanted to at least have something that wasn’t tainted with anger and frustration. Well, there was frustration, but a completely different kind. He groaned, happily tasting that nicotine and sea salt and the fingers in Cullen’s hair tightened as he kissed the man even deeper.

This is what it should have been. It should have been this way from the first day so they could have enjoyed it. All that time wasted being angry and frustrated, after all, was pointless. It should have been like this: heated, satisfying, and so very very close.

\----

He felt himself being pulled in. Pulled in by that gravity and finally losing himself to it. It was hard to deny a force of nature like this, after all, and Dorian was that for Cullen. Undeniable, in this moment, and Cullen groaned as he felt that tug at his hair and Dorian's mouth claiming his own. But more. He needed this and more - he wrapped an arm around the other man’s waist and pulled him in. Close. They were pressed together now, no space to breathe between, but who needed to breathe?

His other hand moved to grip the back of Dorian's neck, holding him there to keep those soft, warm lips against his own. Always like this. He wanted it to always be like this. Cullen was tired of the dance they had to do to keep their jobs, and he was well aware that this was likely his last chance for a month. So he pressed back, gave back just as hard as Dorian was giving, feeling heat pool low and just… fucking making this _count._

\----

There was something about Cullen, so strong and stable on the rocking boat, that made Dorian’s stomach do flips. It was like he wanted to cling to him, wanted that stability that only someone with Cullen’s quiet nature and determined eyes could give, and never let go. That was entirely too desperate, but he couldn’t help himself. It was just what he wanted in that moment. And to never let this kiss end, but that was pretty well assumed.

He took a small step backward so his back was pressed against a wall, and Dorian pulled Cullen in closer. That wall of heat and strength was the only thing keeping him upright at the moment, so much did he want to just fall into this kiss and drag Cullen back to bed, and he wanted as much as he could have. So he tugged that bit harder at Cullen’s hair, then let it go so he could wind his arm around the other man’s neck. Warm lips and tongue danced against his own, and Dorian groaned softly as he sucked gently at Cullen’s lower lip. This would be what he remembered when he was stuck in that dingy room. He’d remember those lips and how Cullen curled around him. Maker knew, he might never forget it.

“ _Cullen_ ,” Dorian breathed against those scarred lips as he kissed him again.

\----

Dorian was like a storm in Cullen's mind, had been since the first time he'd laid eyes on the man. There was something about him that tore through Cullen's world, upsetting and turning on end everything Cullen thought was right and proper. He'd proven the deck boss wrong at almost every turn. _He won't even make it through orientation, much less survive the sea_. He had and did. _He thinks he's too good for all this._ He didn't. _He can't be interested in me. I shouldn't be interested in him._ But they were, somehow they were, and that storm was maybe just what Cullen needed. _Dorian_ was maybe just what Cullen needed to jumpstart a life that had been dead in the water for so many years.

And maybe this was a mistake. Maybe all this would come back to bite them. They were playing a dangerous game out here on deck as the first rays of sunlight broke through gray clouds and The Herald steamed into port. If they were found out… if just one person walked through that door right now, it wouldn't just be Dorian and Cullen's jobs on the line - they were jeopardizing the livelihood of every crew member right now. If the show pulled off The Herald, it would take a revenue stream with it, and that would be it. They'd be done, regardless of quotas or the next season of fishing.

Selfish. It was selfish to give in, Cullen knew that. Dorian didn't understand the magnitude of what they were risking, but Cullen did. He should know better. He should stop this. He shouldn't have asked Dorian to stay in his bed earlier. He shouldn't have kissed him weeks ago and then admitted that he had this… this thing for him. Selfish.

But when he heard his name panted like that and coming from _Dorian’s_ lips, a switch flipped and thought stopped. Cullen felt like being selfish. For once, he felt like letting that storm rip through him and putting _his_ needs above those of the others. Maker help him, he wanted to let go and let the pieces fall as they may.

So he pushed back, pressing Dorian into the wall at his back, wedging his thigh between Dorian's and letting his hips roll and feeling every ounce of pressure and friction against where that heat was building low in him. They were separated by so many layers, he didn't know if Dorian could feel his excitement, didn't care if he did, and Cullen groaned with abandon against Dorian's lips. Strong fingers dug into the fabric and meat at Dorian's hips, pulling him closer, impossibly close, but not close enough. Nowhere near.

His tongue darted into Dorian's mouth, pressing back against his, and Cullen savored that taste, just as he savored everything about this moment. Taste, smell, touch, everything about Dorian called to a part of him that had lain dormant for so long, but was now waking up - hungry and full of need.

“Dorian,” Cullen half panted, half moaned as he broke for air, “Oh, _Dorian_.” It was all he _could_ say - his senses, his mind were completely and perfectly full of the man. He moved to renew that kiss, now utterly unaware and unconcerned with where they were or how very little time they really had.

But then a sound reverberated and shook around them, and the little world they were lost in was shattered. The horn. Trev was blowing the massive air horn of the ship. They were pulling into harbor, and this… this wonderful madness had to end. If the crew hadn't been awake, they would be now. They'd all be up and getting ready to come out to offload and end the season.

\----

That horn was about as upsetting as the alarm clock before, and Dorian sighed against Cullen’s lips. They couldn’t be like this in town. They couldn’t, and it was maddening. The whole thing was maddening. “Fuck,” Dorian hissed softly before he leaned in and kissed Cullen hard again. Pinned as he was, Dorian wanted more. He wanted hands tearing at his clothes and being able to do more than buck awkwardly at Cullen’s leg. It wasn’t fair.

“We should,” he breathed between kisses, “get out of sight.”

\----

"Then… you should… stop doing that,” Cullen answered as he returned those kisses. His reason was returning and he knew he'd risked too much out here, but he still couldn't quite bring himself to pull away. That driving need had been scared away by the sound of the horn, and in its place Cullen could feel something a little softer, something a little sadder, filling him. These were their last few seconds alone. After this, there'd be weighing and counting, getting paid, and then goodbyes until the next season started in a month. No time. There was no time, but now that Cullen could think, there was so much he wanted to say.

His body relaxed, and he untangled his fingers from where they'd been gripping at Dorian's hips to wrap his arms around the man's shoulders to just… hold him for a moment. Cullen buried his face in against his neck and took a deep breath - he'd at least have this to remember when it was just him rambling about alone in his house. He brushed a kiss against Dorian's fluttering pulse, all tender and wholly unlike the forcefulness of before. It wasn't just the physical that made Cullen lose his mind over Dorian. He cared. He cared more than he thought he could, and he wanted Dorian to feel that, to know it.

“Listen,” he started, voice low beside Dorian's ear, “I just want you to know that I…”

The sound of voices from the door that led below to the galley stopped him mid-sentence. _Fuck_. In the span of a few heartbeats, Cullen was away - several steps away, leaning on the rails and grabbing his cigarettes out of his pocket, chest pounding and trying to make his face… blank? Something, anyway, that wouldn't give them away.

_Too far. What am I doing? Is this worth it?_

_Yes._

\----

Maker help them both. Dorian was going to kill the others. That was just the way it was going to have to be. To have to miss out on Cullen’s mouth on his neck and whispering sweet nothings in his ear... Dorian would kill them. And he would have loved to know what Cullen was about to say, but that wasn’t going to happen now.

All he could do was practically melt against the wall and hopefully hide how his cheeks were a bit more red now than they’d been before. Thankfully he was wearing enough layers that no one would notice just how excited being pressed up against and kissing Cullen had made him, though. That was something. It wasn’t enough, but it was something.

Grey eyes lifted and he caught Cullen’s gaze before he offered the other man a small smile, “it was good for me too,” he teased just softly enough, then picked his camera back up in attempt to look somewhat normal.

The door opened then and the others filed out, looking as well rested and happy as they could be for being back to port. Samson had clapped a hand on Alistair’s shoulder, then pointed to the dock, “Look at it,” he sighed, “haven’t seen anything so gorgeous in a while.”

\----

“Thank you, but you're not my type,” Cullen deadpanned as he pushed off the rails to light a cigarette. The smoke billowed up above his head, and he took a moment to watch it trail off behind them as the boat pulled into port. He didn't dare turn, not yet - not until things had calmed down a bit - so he missed the dumbstruck faces of both Samson and Alistair.

“Hey kid,” Samson started, “Is it just me, or was that a joke?”

“M… maybe that line knocked something loose last night?” Alistair answered with a nervous titter.

Cullen grinned to himself. The greenhorn was getting brave. It was a good sign.

“Am I not allowed to be in a good mood?” Cullen asked with a sour tone. The horn had been upsetting, the intrusion of these two out on the deck even more so, but what had come _before_ was decidedly _very_ good. It was mixed with regret for not finishing what he'd wanted to say and sadness knowing that a long stretch of loneliness was before him, but he was in a good mood nonetheless.

“ _Allowed?_ Yes. _Normal?_ Shit no. Let me see that ugly mug. Maybe the greenhorn’s right…” Samson retorted as he walked towards Cullen. When the deck boss turned, Samson sucked air through his teeth and grimaced at the sight of the bruising and friction burn around Cullen's temple. “On second thought, turn back around.”

“Oh, haha,” Cullen responded as he rolled his eyes. “I'm fine.”

“Well, there's an opinion for ya,” Samson barked a laugh and smacked Cullen's shoulders.

“Then I wonder why…” Alistair mused, and Cullen didn't miss the curious look he gave Dorian.

_Well, shit. Is Theirin catching on?_

“What's with the third degree?” Cullen groused, hoping to distract. “Maybe I'm just happy to be alive, did you think of that? You know what? I'd like to _remain_ in a good mood, so you'll pardon me if I leave you two assholes up here to sit and stew. I'm getting coffee.”

Cullen shot Samson and Alistair what he hoped was a disparaging look as he pinched his cigarette out and started for the door that led down to the galley. On his way past Dorian, he couldn't help but turn his head slightly, away from the two questioning men, and give the man a little wink accompanied by the slightest of smiles.

“Don't let these guys get to you, too,” he said, false annoyance in his voice, and kept moving. It had been close, and Alistair’s little look was troubling, but maybe they'd gotten away with it. And if they could get away with it once…

_Getting in too deep here._

He knew it. But when he thought of that smile on Dorian's face earlier, when he thought of being curled up against the man in bed, when he thought of those lips on his own… it was hard to heed his own advice. It was hard to stop himself from falling.

_Gravity._

\----

Dorian smiled a bit as Cullen moved past him, then pointed the camera at Samson and Alistair, “Quick now, say something uplifting and dignified about getting to go home.”

“I’m going to sleep for a week,” Alistair sighed before he rubbed his hands over his face, then cut a glance back at Dorian, “but it’s good that _everyone’s_ in a good mood, huh?”

“Finishing up will do that,” Dorian agreed, “so what’s the deal with the offload?”

Samson gestured for Dorian to follow while he got the lines sorted out so they could tie up when Trev pulled them into the dock, and grinned, “same as the others, but at the end of it, we get to _leave_.” Honestly, Dorian didn’t even need to be looking at him to know he was grinning.

While he stood there, though, all he could really think about was that kiss and how wonderfully Cullen curled around him. Through the coffee and the cigarette taste on his lips, Dorian had tasted something fresh and wonderful and so inherently masculine that it made his blood heat to think of it. The fact was that Cullen got under his skin, both in good ways and bad, and Dorian had never really experienced it. The man was like an itch at the back of his head that was always there and always just enough to make him so aware of him.

This break, this time probably spent holed up in a crappy motel room, was going to be rough. He’d have to come to grips with it all, since he wouldn’t be sick all the time and trying not to let anyone see their... whatever this was. Dorian could think about it. Not being in such close quarters might give him some space, but the fact remained that all he wanted to do was be close to Cullen.

_Oh, but you’re in deep, Pavus. And you hardly know him._

Since when had that stopped him, though?

Soon, though, the lines had been tossed and tied and the last offload began. There wasn’t much time to think about that and get the shots of the tanks opening and that kind of thing. Blackwall had offered up the position of being the one to mind the counts while everyone else got cleaned up and started packing, so Dorian had taken that time to chat with him. Gruff and rugged as he was... he wasn’t a bad guy, for all Dorian had spoken with him before.

So there they were, on the cusp of being done. The excitement was palpable, only Dorian felt it more in his chest and stomach. Nerves. Again.

\----

Despite the copious amounts of cream and sugar Cullen poured in, the coffee he made was still bitter. Two months out would do that, he supposed, but somehow, every time Dorian made it, the bitterness and acidity was less present. He idly wondered what the man's secret was as he tossed back a few elfroot tabs and prepared to go back up to oversee the counts. As he turned to leave, though, Blackwall emerged and just said he'd do it in that gruff way of his.

“You had a rough night. Just go get packed,” he grunted at Cullen as he poured his own cup.

“I… thank you,” Cullen replied and changed direction to head back to his room. It was, of course, empty, but as he looked at the attempt at making the bed Dorian had done before he'd left, his mind went back to last night when it _wasn't_ empty. Maker, had he ever slept so well? Cullen doubted it, and he sighed with the reaffirmed knowledge that this next month would be _lonely_. Two months ago, when he first met Dorian, if someone had told him he'd be wishing the season was a little longer just to be near the man, that they'd be ducking out of view camera for a clandestine kiss, he'd have thought them certifiable. But now that he was looking at his rumpled bed with the taste of the man still on his lips, well, that was his reality.

Cullen packed quickly. His things were all organized, of course, and he didn't let them get dragged all over the boat like some of the guys. Well, one of the guys. It seemed like everywhere he looked, there was something of Samson’s hanging around. He chuckled at that as he put his few clothes away. He'd saved space in his one over large suitcase for bedding, after all, in an attempt to sleep and help his back make it.

Sleep. He was right back to Dorian now as he stripped the blankets and sheets off his bed and set to folding them. He cast a sheepish look towards the door to make sure it was closed before he put the pillowcase he'd just pulled free to his nose. It was mostly… nothing. Just him. But there was the slightest hint of that musky sweet whatever it was that Dorian wore present, and Cullen smiled.

_It's this amazing thing called cologne._

That smile stayed on his face as he finished packing everything up and zipped the bag. Done. Nothing left to do but wait for the final count and go home… alone.

A blinking light caught his attention. His phone must have had signal again, because that obnoxious little notification light was going off. He grabbed it from where it sat charging by the bed, grabbed his now cooed coffee, left his suitcase in his room, and made his way back to the galley, idly thumbing through messages.

A few from Mia, one from his parents, and one from Bran - his annual joke about “catching crabs”. Cullen rolled his eyes at his little brother's joke and set about refreshing his cup of coffee, trying all the while to _not_ think about heated kisses on deck as the sun rose.

\----

After a while, filming the offload got rather boring. Giant baskets full of crab could only be interesting for a while, though Alistair had taken the opportunity to pick up some of the more giant ones and snap some pictures with them. That had been some fun. Now, though... now he needed to pack.

Dorian made it back to his and Varric’s room, and smiled as the dwarf pushed past him to toss  few clothes into his bag, “Ready to head back, I bet?”

“Ready for a real meal somewhere anchored down and not having to watch Trev chain smoke for ten hours at a time,” Varric answered with a laugh, “maybe when we get back you won’t be sick for the first month. You think?”

“I can hope,” Dorian nodded as he set to filling his back with what little he’d had with him this trip, “so... hand off cameras and tapes, then?”

“Yep,” Varric told him, “they’ll do the rest of it. We’ll get the dates and stuff to be back and what to have and all that when we sign everything over.”

Dorian’s stomach fell a bit, and he sighed as he looked down at his bag. This was going to be a lonely time. He’d have his phone, yes, but what good did that really do him? Other than to hear Felix tell him all the reasons why he should come back and get something more... steady, probably. Maker, Dorian wanted a drink. He wanted something strong that burned so he could just not think for a while. That would help, wouldn’t it?

“Hey,” Varric prompted again, “you... okay? You didn’t sleep in here last night.”

“No,” Dorian answered, “I mean, yes I’m okay, and no I didn’t sleep in here. I ended up going out and sleeping on the galley couch. Couldn’t get comfortable.”

“Right.”

“So... you getting off right now?” Dorian asked.

The dwarf nodded, “Plane to catch, since we don’t need to be here for the final numbers. All that’ll get recorded. I’m, uh, staying with a friend for the break and she’s only got a couple of days she can swing grabbing me from the airport.”

Dorian nodded, “Well, have a good one then.”

“Yeah, you too, Sparkler.”

One eyebrow cocked, “Sparkler, is it, now?”

Varric grinned, “Yeah. Getting all pissed off and hot and then burning out in a night. Sounds like one, doesn’t it?”

“Does it?”

“Maybe you ought to ask Curly. He seemed to understand it.”

Maker help him.

Dorian waved a bit as Varric clung his bag over his shoulder and headed off, then only stayed in the room long enough before he decided a cup of coffee was going to need to happen. Packing was the worst, and he needed something to keep him going. He needed it now, especially with the knowledge that he now had a nickname like the others. That... had to mean something right? So he headed for the galley, and stopped just as the sight of the man he’d kissed maybe an hour before filled his vision. Of course. They always seemed to run into each other there.

“Well, fortune smiles on me,” Dorian prompted as he grabbed a mug, “and the impossible has happened.”

\----

Calloused thumbs moved over the surface of his phone as Cullen tapped out messages to his family. _I'm back for the break. Just fine. Hope you're doing well._ to Mia and his parents and then _Maker, will that joke never get old?_ to Bran. His thumbs moved slowly and his brows were pulled together in concentration. That damn keyboard was just far too small for his hands, so it required all his attention just to type.

He didn't notice Dorian coming in until the man spoke, but that smooth voice pulled him from his battle with his own phone immediately. “The impossible?” he asked, brows raised. Really, much had happened that Cullen had thought impossible not too long ago. He was quite curious to see which impossible thing Dorian could be talking about. “What's that?”

\----

“Apparently I’ve been here long enough, or... done something good enough, I guess, to earn myself one of Varric’s nicknames,” Dorian answered as he poured the coffee and added a bit of milk to help some of how bitter it usually was. “So now we get to share that honor,” he went on.

Maker, even just standing there Cullen looked beautiful. With his concerned face and blond curls poking out from under that cap he was... he was just everything that made Dorian’s knees turn to jelly. Somehow. Somehow this big man with his insults and soft touches and sweet kisses had taken Dorian off guard completely and to the point that even just _looking_ at him made him realize that he was going to miss Cullen over these few weeks.

“Are you headed out soon?” Dorian asked.

\----

“I'll stick around for the final count. I'm usually the one out there doing the last offload, actually,” Cullen answered with a wave of his hand. “No one's waiting for me, anyway. I'm in no hurry.”

And wasn't that just… sad. It hadn't been before, but now it was. Besides, the one person he might like to have waiting for him was standing in front of him, with his flashing eyes and his stubborn streak a mile wide and his inexplicable pull on Cullen’s mind. And now Cullen was going to have to say goodbye, for a while anyway, and that was just sad.

In that moment, he wasn't entirely sure what to say. He didn't _want_ to say goodbye and he couldn't say what he tried to earlier, so he just chuckled softly and asked, “So, what'd he saddle you with?”

\----

“Sparkler, apparently,” Dorian answered as he wrapped his hand around the mug, “in light of the quick anger and then it burning out. Or... being mad one minute and seemingly not so much the next.” Grey eyes cast a glance around and he lifted his mug so his voice would still be a bit muffled, “Can’t imagine how _that_ happened.”

He sipped from his coffee, then made a bit of a face, “Ugh, this shit is terrible.”

\----

“Yeah, it really is. I don’t know how you make it not terrible,” Cullen offered and turned to lean back against the counter. “But, Sparkler,” he grinned as he tried Dorian's new nickname out. “That sounds about right, I'd say.”

\----

“Does it, _Curly_?” Dorian teased back with a wink, “and... I guess, you’re headed home today? Do you drive in or does someone come to get you?”

_Please come have a drink with me. It’s early yet, but I need one._

“Would you... I mean, are you in a hurry?”

_\----_

“Alright, I'll give you that one,” Cullen returned, annoyance in his voice but a smile on his lips. The last time Dorian had called him _Curly_ , it hadn't gone so well. That's really what had set the whole thing off… well, that and a monster headache and an orientation class Cullen really, _really_ hadn't wanted to lead. Now… it didn't bother him so much.

“But no, offloading takes hours. I bet they're just cracking open the second tank. I'll, uh, be here for a while,” he went on and grimaced as he took a sip of his coffee. “And… you? Sticking around, or?”

_Please stay. Just a little longer._

\----

“Well, I don’t exactly have a ton of places to go,” Dorian pointed out, “the motel or the motel. So... I’ll stick around here for a bit, I suppose.” He tipped his head to the side as he regarded the other man and smiled. Cullen’s smile was a good one. There were some people out there who just looked like they were born to smile, and Cullen was certainly one of them. Even with that scar across his lip, the man still looked like he should always be happy.

_He should be._

Dorian took another drink from his coffee then, “So what happens with the boat? Does Trev drive it back to... wherever? Or does it stay here for the few weeks? I don’t think I ever learned anything about that.”

Mostly he was stalling. Going to pack meant he had to re-remember just what was going on in his life. Yes, the show probably netted him at least a little money, but this wasn’t an hourly wage. Arguably, he probably had maybe an extra dollar in his bank account from the interest but no paycheck yet. Having to go back to a sad, empty room would only give him the chance to think about it and Dorian _really_ didn’t want that. So he’d stay on a boat that he’d hated for the few few weeks instead. Ironic, in a way, wasn’t it?

\----

“Actually,” Cullen began as he rolled his mug in his hands for lack of anything better to do with them, “The Herald is my responsibility over break. Trev docks her here, and since I'm closest, I come to check on her once or twice a week.”

Odd, to be just... talking after what had happened. That kiss was… well, it had been powerful, and Cullen still went weak in the knees when he thought about it. It seemed like there was a kind cloud over them now, popping with electricity and nerves. At least it felt that way to Cullen - like they were dancing around a question… _when can I see you again?_

Soon, he hoped, and he cracked a pleased little smile as he realized Dorian had just reminded him that he had an official reason to find himself in town more frequently than was perhaps usual.

“So,” he continued, “I'll, ah, I'll be around. You know. Maybe, if you're not so fond of your motel room that you can't tear yourself away from it, maybe we could… get a drink at some point?”

\----

_Maker, yes._

Dorian nodded, though he tried not to look as incredibly desperate and thrilled as he felt. Coming off like that wasn’t going to help anyone. Instead, he smiled and took another drink of that awful coffee and licked his lips, “I think that might be good,” he agreed, “we have cell service back, right?”

He pulled out his phone, noted the bars he had, then looked back up at Cullen, “You could... call me when you know you’re headed into town?” Dorian offered, “or text or whatever. I doubt I’ll be in the middle of anything, so…”

\----

That pleased little smile grew wider, and Cullen laughed softly. Dorian had told him once, before things got really bad, that he was a little desperate. He hadn't actually used those words, but Cullen could read between the lines - it wasn't hard considering the job Dorian had had to take. So this was… this was good. Neither of them had to be so lonely over break.

And maybe they could get to know one another in a more _normal_ fashion. Talking without worrying who might be watching or whether Cullen's mic was on - just that much sounded wonderful. It was a chance, anyway, to see if there was more to this than stress and close quarters and that slight thrill of… well, of the forbidden. Cullen thought that it was, for him, but he had no way of knowing how Dorian felt.

Now, maybe he could find out. It was a relief to something he hadn't even known was bothering him. _What if this isn't real?_ Well, he'd find out. As well as he could in a month off the boat, anyway.

Cullen reached behind him to grab his phone off the counter, pulled up his dialer, and held it out for Dorian to take. “I will. And you can, you know, message me if you're bored or whatever. I think that motel gets maybe 5 channels, and one of them’s the home shopping network.” _Maker, stop talking_. He was nervous and excited all at once at the thought of having Dorian's name in his phone. “Here,” he said, pushing his phone closer to Dorian, “Call me so we can have each other’s.”

\----

All at once, Dorian was hit with one of those weird nostalgic-but-not kinds of feelings. In some ways, this felt not at all unlike the first few times he’d ever asked a boy for his number (back then under the guise of ‘hanging out’ with no romantic ties) but without the usual worry he’d been found out. His teenage years had been... not rough, but downplayed. Any sort of ‘deviant behavior’ like that was punishable in his very private and Chantry oriented boarding school, so there had to be a lot of subtle code and assumptions based off of what someone’s friend told them about there being another interested party. If it was discussed at all.

So dating, actual dating, had been something Dorian didn’t really experience until he’d gone to Uni. It had been freeing, to a point, and he’d let himself blossom into his sexuality with little thought to who knew or cared. It was a challenge to anyone who might disapprove, and he hadn’t cared. Well, he hadn’t cared until actually mattered. Then... then he cared a lot. The fact remained, however, that asking a man for his number still made his stomach do flips. That never went away.

“Well, Maker _knows_ I need a complete set of porcelain cats for my nonexistent flat so the shopping channel’s a help,” he deadpanned as he took Cullen’s phone and quickly put his number in, “or, you know, some hideous sequined tunic. _That_ could only help my self esteem.”

Dorian held Cullen’s phone back out to him and smiled, “Call mine and I’ll put you in. We should... do that drink. Soon. but once you’ve rested a bit. I can’t imagine you want to see this place for at least a week, right?”

\----

“The place no, but the company it affords…” Cullen replied without thinking and felt that damnable blush rising on his cheeks. Honestly, he couldn't have any kind of strong emotion that didn't show itself immediately as a flush on his fair skin. It just wasn't fair.

He cleared his throat as he took his phone back and pressed the little phone icon to call Dorian's number. He heard the phone ring on his end and grinned as he put it up to his ear, sticking one finger in the air as a response to Dorian's questioning look. He tapped his foot in feigned impatience. “I'm being sent to voicemail. Typical.”

_You've reached Dorian Pavus. Please leave a message._

“Yes, hi. This message is for… Sparkler. This is Curly,” he said into the phone with a grin and a little roll of his eyes at his own nickname, “Just a reminder to avoid purchasing porcelain cats or sequined tunics, regardless of how good the price is. If you feel the urge take you, call me instead.”

He pressed end and pocketed his phone. “That guy, I swear,” he laughed. It was… it was _silly_ , ridiculous, even, but that was the sort of mood Cullen was in.

\----

Dorian just blinked as he watched that whole display. That man and the man he’d met at the beginning of all this couldn’t possibly be the same. It was impossible. The man before him was grinning and making terrible jokes into his voicemail. He was sweet and... kind of _goofy_. Actually goofy. The man he’d met at first had been so angry for no real reason, grumpy, insufferable, and now this? Dorian didn’t actually know what to say.

But he liked it, actually. Something about that laugh and the grin and everything else made his stomach do flips and his heart flutter. It was so juvenile, and he knew it, but all he wanted to do was grab the man by the collar and kiss him again. Of course, he’d wanted to do that anyway, but this was something else altogether.

“Are you sure that blow to the head didn’t knock something loose?” Dorian teased after a moment, and rolled his eyes a he reached out a hand to rest on Cullen’s arm. It wasn’t anything too forward, not really, but Dorian offered a warm smile and chuckled again. “You’re downright _pleasant_ and I think you’ve planned that so no one will see it,” he went on, “and... I’m very glad for it.”

So they’d wait together until the tanks were empty. Then they’d get a drink together, even if it wasn’t tonight. Soon. Soon was good. Dorian could also just...call Cullen up if he wanted to. He did want to. He would want to the minute they had some peace and plan for something that wasn’t going to be possibly caught on camera. Soon. Soon he could call and no one would know.

“So what should we do while we wait for this offload business?” Dorian asked as he looked down at his coffee, “are you...hungry, maybe?”

\----

_Pleasant._

Well, that was something Cullen hadn't been called in… ever, really. But it warmed him - it warmed him to hear that Dorian liked his… less serious side. It took a while, a good long while, for Cullen to get comfortable enough to let it show, and it hadn't in many years, but he was happy to know it was still in there somewhere. He was practically buzzing with pleasure from the knowledge that he still had the capacity to let go and just be… silly after everything, and that Dorian had the ability to drag it out of him.

A laugh escaped scarred lips as one hand shot up to the back of his neck and he dared to look into Dorian's amused face. His amused, beautiful face, and for a moment, Cullen couldn't find the words for how happy he was in that moment. He'd made Dorian smile. He'd made Dorian laugh.

He hoped he had more chances to do just that. Over and over again.

“I could eat,” he finally replied and set about the task of getting out the last of the eggs and bacon and bread to make toast. He cooked up a big batch of each, knowing the guys would be hungry, too, and gave Dorian the job of making coffee since, for some reason, when he did it, the stuff went down easier.

They chatted the whole while, mostly about what happened at the end of each season - light stuff, though there was that constant undertone of _giddy_ that kept Cullen smiling. As they sat down to eat, the other guys drifted in, some just grabbing a bite before going back out again, some, like Alistair, sitting and eating with them. It was… _pleasant_ , Cullen thought, and didn't begrudge their presence knowing that this wasn't the last time he'd see Dorian during the break. No. Soon, they'd have time to themselves. The thought renewed the smile on his face, and he found himself joking right along with the other guys.

Good. This was decidedly good.

But good things always came to an end, as they must, and sooner than he'd like, the offload was complete. After everything was counted, The Herald had made her quota for this season - by the skin of her teeth, but it still counted. Everyone collected their paychecks; everyone clapped each other on the shoulders and said goodbye for a month; everyone went their separate ways.

Cullen waited on deck until Dorian had packed and made his way off the boat. There was a car coming to take Dorian back to his motel, so Cullen elected to wait with him at the end of the docks until it came, which it did all too soon. As the driver put Dorian's bags in the trunk, that same happy energy he'd felt all morning drove Cullen, and when Dorian said goodbye, Cullen leaned in to give him the quickest kiss on the cheek.

“I'll call you. Or you call me. Either way… see you soon,” he said with a smile.

The walk back to his truck and the drive back home… they somehow weren't as sad or lonely as he'd thought they'd be.

_Soon._


	13. Shore Leave [1 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Dorian adjust to life off the boat and work up to the promised meet up for drinks.

“I'm home,” Cullen muttered to his empty living room as he made his way into the house, feet dragging and a little limp to his step. Fine. He'd been fine that morning - more than, actually - and had been coasting on a cocktail of adrenaline and excited energy after _that kiss_ and even the little rush of exchanging numbers, but his body was wrecked after two months of hard fishing. Sitting for the 45 minutes it took to drive home had allowed all those aches and pains that had been held off by near constant movement and sheer force of will to take root and _grow_. He felt every second of those two months now, and all he wanted was _bed._

So he locked the door, then stumbled into his bedroom, kicking off shoes and peeling off layers of clothes and letting them stay where they landed until he was barechested. Still in his jeans, he collapsed face-first into his pillow - _too bad I'm alone -_ and intended to just _sleep for days._

Of course, he couldn't do that. A few hours later, he woke to a dark room, a stiff body, and a grumbling stomach. So he ate. He ate as he iced every part of him that hurt and watched tv into the night, not even aware of the fact that he was turning his phone over and over in his hands, waiting for it to vibrate.

And that's how he spent the first two days - refreshing ice packs and soaking in epsom salts to help soothe sore muscles and wondering when he should reach out to Dorian. When his phone finally did go off, his heart jumped, and he nearly dropped the damn thing in the tub.

Mia. Just Mia saying she was bringing the kids for a quick visit in two days. _After you're rested, of course. I hate to think of you alone out there, you know,_ she'd said. _Right, well, you're always welcome_ , he'd sent back. It would be good to see her. And the kids. It always was. They weren't, however who he wanted to see.

The next day saw Cullen a bit more mobile. And bored. Maker, had he ever been so bored? He doubted it. He was restless - he was never _restless_. He had hobbies. He had his car. He had books. He had that hand-me-down gaming system Bran had given him the last time he visited. He had TV and movies for days and acquaintances at the little pub down the road. Maker, he had the whole Brecilian Forest practically in his backyard. These things had always been enough.

But somehow, they weren't any more, and he found that aimless energy maddening.

_Out of the house. I've got to get out of the house._ And so he did, for a little while anyway, to go down to the general store that was all his community could support to pick up things he needed and many he didn't. Just to pass the time. He stopped in the sewing section, which was only a small portion of one of the aisles, as he always did. Amber eyes took stock of what they had, and saw the same sewing kits and other things meant for emergency fixes, as well as the small bin of yarn they usually had. It took a while, but he managed to hunker down to see what they had and was mostly unimpressed… until his hands landed on a few skeins of soft wool yarn, dyed a curious mixture of stormcloud gray and teal that was somehow just as soothing and as unpredictable as the sea itself.

It made him think of someone he knew who was a bit like that, too, so he bought as many of that lot as he could find.

A trip to grab takeout from the pub, a bit of smalltalk with the locals while he waited, and Cullen was back home… but he was itching to get started on something with his newly acquired purchase. TV on and dinner largely untouched, he sat on the couch and let his mind wander as his practiced fingers began weaving that yarn into… something. _A scarf. A nice, warm scarf. Maybe... Maybe for him. Maybe._

Thoughts wandered to bronze skin and untroubled sleep wrapped in warm arms, and Cullen smiled as he worked. Dorian should be rested by now? Right? It was about time for Cullen to reach out, he thought, just as soon as his fingers got tired. It had been long enough.

Of course, _of course_ the man beat him to it though, and he dropped his project in his lap unceremoniously as he reached for his buzzing phone.

_[Dorian (8:42PM)]: Quick i need someone to talk to before i buy this vegetable chopper and salad spinner all in 1_

Cullen laughed as he tapped out his response. At least it wasn't a sequined tunic.

_[Cullen (9:43PM)]: At least that actually sounds useful._

_[Cullen (9_ _:43PM)]: Also, hello._

_[Dorian (9:45PM)]: Hello. Hope i haven't pulled you out of sleep or something._

_[Cullen (9:46PM)]: Not at all. And don't buy a salad spinner. Why does salad need to be spun?_

_[Dorian (9:47PM)]: No idea it just looked really tempting. And if youre not sleeping what are you doing? I thought you said you were sleeping for two weeks when you got home._

_[Dorian (9:48PM)]: wow that was really invasive. sorry._

_[Cullen (9:51PM)]: No worries. I tend to be a bit of a night owl. I was just watching some terrible movie on TV._

_[Cullen (9:52PM)]: And, if you want to know, I'd started a scarf._

_[Cullen (9:52_ _PM)]: Which, I can't believe I told you I do that._

_[Dorian (9:54PM)]: Good to know my mental image of you on the couch and knitting still stands_

They chatted back and forth the rest of the evening, about the season, about the guys on the boat, about that awful motel they'd put Dorian up in… and every time Dorian worked in some little flirty something, Cullen found himself grinning and blushing like a schoolchild. Maker, this was what _fun._ When was the last time he could say that?

Inevitably, it ended when Cullen's eyes couldn't stay open any longer, but he picked it up the next day like they hadn't stopped.

_[Cullen (11_ _:48AM)]: And? How are you? Getting enough sleep now?_

_[Dorian (11_ _:51AM)]: I crashed for a while but staying in bed isnt really my thing. Im not used to all this quiet around here_

_[Cullen (11:53AM)]: Oh, yeah, it's pretty dead during the break. Worse in the off season._

_[Cullen (11:53AM)]: Though I seem to recall that you liked quiet._

_[Dorian (11:55AM)]: I do to a point. Theres quiet and then theres boring. The quiet is starting to tip into boring now_

_[Cullen (11:58AM)]: Hmmm... you know, sometimes Samson sticks around. You might could find him if you're bored._

_[Dorian (11:59AM)]: Im sure that would go over well_

_[Dorian (12:00PM)]: Besides its not really him I want to see_

A flush of warmth went straight through Cullen at that. Maker, but this man had a hold on him. All Cullen wanted to do was jump in his truck and rush into town. But maybe that would seem too… desperate. He _was._ He desperately wanted to see Dorian away from everything, but he didn't want to _seem_ that way… didn't want to scare the man off.

_[Cullen (12:02PM)]: Oh. Right. Blackwall._

_[Dorian (12:03PM)]: How did you know? Its the beard. i cant help myself._

_[Cullen (12:04PM)]: Well, no one can compete with that beard, surely._

_[Dorian (12:06PM)]: Someone could but I dont think he feels like playing for the moment_

_[Cullen (12:07PM)]: Oh? And who would that be?_

_[Dorian (12:10PM)]: Maybe you know him. Big blond and has a bit of a temper? Likes yelling at me when I've been nothing but wonderful all the time_

_[Cullen (12:11PM)]: Hm. Sounds familiar._

_[Cullen (12:11PM)]: Nothing but wonderful all the time, huh?_

_[Dorian (12:12PM)]: Im a paragon of virtue_

_[Cullen (12:13PM)]: Oh, a paragon now. I had no idea we had such an esteemed individual on board._

_[Cullen (12:13PM)]: We should buy better coffee._

Dorian had to go get something to eat eventually, so they took another break for him to go get lunch. It was heartening that the man was eating, though. Even when he felt a bit better on the ship, he ate like a bird and Cullen was always… concerned for him.

_[Cullen (1:37PM)]: How’s your stomach, then? Better?_

_[Dorian (1:40PM)]: Slightly better after being on solid ground for more than a few hours_

_[Cullen (1:41PM)]: You and your seasickness are going to be the death of me._

_[Dorian (1:42PM)]: Hows that?_

_[Cullen (1:43PM)]: I just worry._

_[Cullen (1:44PM)]: I'm a worrier. Don't know if you'd noticed._

_[Dorian (1:45PM)]: I did notice_

_[Dorian (1:47PM)]: And its gotten better, at least. Though I cant quite eat as much as you lot do...especially breakfast food_

_[Cullen (1:50PM)]: Breakfast food is the best food, sir_

_[Dorian (1:51PM)]: It is_

_[Dorian (1:51PM)]: but 1000 calories of it in one sitting is a bit much for me_

_[Cullen (1:53PM)]: Hey, what are you trying to say here? Now I feel all judged._

_[Cullen (1:53PM)]: I suppose I should add :P_

_[Cullen (1:54PM)]: If that's the right one_

_[Dorian (1:54PM)]: You guys do a lot more heavy lifting than I do though_

_[Dorian (1:55PM)]: and he uses emoticons now? I feel like I dont even know you_

_[Cullen (1:56PM)]: You kids and your damn smiley faces_

_[Cullen (1:57PM)]: I'm better in person. Which isn't saying much._

_[Dorian (1:59PM)]: Its saying quite a bit in that I like being around you in person_

Well, that was nice to read, and here came the blushing, right on cue. Cullen's hands tapped out the first thing he thought.

_[Cullen (2:00PM)]: Really?_

_[Cullen (2:00PM)]: I mean, yes. Good. Me, too._

_[Cullen (2:01PM)]: I like being around you, too._

_[Cullen (2:01PM)]: I'll stop now._

_Maker, I'm an idiot._ But he was a smiling, happy idiot, only smiling wider when he saw Dorian's response.

_[Dorian (2:03PM)]: So Im hoping you maybe need to come check the boat soon so maybe we could grab that drink?_

_[Cullen (2:04PM)]: I was thinking I could use a drink soon._

_[Cullen (2:04PM)]: Well, and check on the boat, too._

_[Cullen (2:05PM)]: But mostly a drink. With good company._

_[Dorian (2:06PM)]: Im glad to hear that_

_[Cullen (2:06PM)]: A paragon even._

_[Dorian (2:07PM)]: When would this drink be able to happen do you think? Soon?_

_[Cullen (2:09PM)]: Family’s coming to visit. I could maybe drive out day after tomorrow?_

_[Cullen (2:10PM)]: Unless you have something else? Is that too soon?_

_[Dorian (2:14PM)]: Ive got a last meeting with some of our people that morning but Ill be free after that. I think they just want free labor to help pack up all the tapes and everything_

_[Cullen (2:15PM)]: I don't really do mornings, so that's not a problem. Afternoon, then._

_[Dorian (2:16PM)]: Not a morning person? And you work this job?_

_[Dorian (2:16PM)]: Thats not what I expected_

_[Cullen (2:18PM)]: If I slept like a normal person, maybe._

_[Dorian (2:19PM)]: Is that from working? The being up for 30+ hours and then trying to get back to a normal schedule?_

No, it really didn't. It was more to do with old memories and a past that haunted his dreams, but now wasn't the time for that.

_[Cullen (2:23PM)]: A bit. I just have trouble sleeping. It's ok._

_[Cullen (2:24PM)]: Though there was once in recent memory when I slept well._

_[Dorian (2:25PM)]: Oh?_

_[Cullen (2:26PM)]: Right before offload. Not sure why, though._

Cullen waited a while, staring at his phone expectantly. The longer he went without a response, though, the more nervous he got that maybe Dorian didn't pick up the innuendo. Oh, but he hated having to talk like this… without the benefit of tone or expression, he could never tell where he stood.

_[Cullen (2:31PM)]: Ok. I'm kidding. I know why, and you do, too._

_[Dorian (2:32PM)]: Do i?_

_[Dorian (2:33PM)]: oh_

_[Dorian (2:33PM)]: OH_

_[Dorian (2:34PM)]: I thought you overslept for wheel watch normally_

_[Cullen (2:35PM)]: I am never late._

_[Cullen (2:35PM)]: Well, I mean, that once._

_[Cullen (2:36PM)]: Worth it though. If I can say that._

_[Dorian (2:38PM)]: It was the best sleep Ive gotten in a while. And Id be lying if I said I hadnt wished Trev had just asked someone else._

And again, they chatted into the evening and night, stopping here and there for dinner runs and showers and whatever else needed to be done. Mia and the kids were there the next morning, which was good. Good, but Cullen kept looking at his phone and sighing when he wasn't hauling laughing children around on his back, which eventually earned a raised eyebrow from his sister.

“I thought you hated ‘ _that damn thing’_ as you tell me every time I remind you that it's not difficult to text a hello every now and then,” she remarked.

“I do,” was all he offered in return. And he did. He was slow and hated feeling tethered to it, but there was someone on the other end of it that he was… quite fond of.

The visit went well. Cullen loved his family and enjoyed every chance he had to spoil his niece and nephew, but he breathed a sigh of relief as he watched their taillights disappear down the street that led away from his home. A quick change into an old pair of pajama pants, and he made a beeline to his phone. He was… well, he was delighted to see the notification light blinking when he picked it up.

_[Dorian (9:56PM)]: Tomorrow_

_[Dorian (9:56PM)]: Drinks_

_[Cullen (9:58PM)]: Yes, drinks. Maybe pub food._

_[Dorian (10:01PM)]: Id like that. And to get to talk without having to switch a mic off or avoid a camera_

And there it was - the heart of it. Everything they’d been to one another over the past two months, from rivals to friends to something else, had been tied up in the need for secrecy. It had led to denial at first, at least on Cullen's part, which had been a truly miserable time. When that hadn't worked, because of course it didn't - it led to this dance if managing mics and how they interacted in front of others and always, always knowing where the cameras were.

It was exhausting is what it was, and didn't afford them the time they needed to know if this was something real.

_[Cullen (10:04PM)]: I wish things were different._

_[Dorian (10:05PM)]: Well we survived thus far. And now we can get together without all that._

_[Cullen (10:07PM)]: We can. I'm looking forward to it._

_[Cullen (10:07PM)]: I promise I won't yell._

_[Cullen (10:08PM)]: And no circle._

_[Dorian (10:08PM)]: Good_

_[Dorian (10:08PM)]: Because I intend to be up in your personal space at least a little_

_[Cullen (10:09PM)]: Oh_

_[Cullen (10:10PM)]: I'm glad you can't see me right now._

_[Dorian (10:11PM)]: Why is that?_

_[Dorian (10:11PM)]: Are you blushing?_

_[Dorian (10:02PM)]: and Im missing it_

_[Cullen (10:03PM)]: There may also be a smile_

_[Cullen (10:03PM)]: But I'm not telling_

_[Dorian (10:04PM)]: Now I wish wed said drinks tonight_

_[Dorian (10:05PM)]: but that might be a bit short notice now_

_[Cullen (10:07PM)]: And I'm disgusting. Playing with kids all day and am now in pajamas._

_[Cullen (10:08PM)]: But you probably didn't want to know that._

_[Dorian (10:09PM)]: Well youre in good company. Pajamas here, too._

_[Cullen (10:10PM)]: Hm. Well now I'm just picturing you with fuzzy bunny slippers._

_[Dorian (10:12PM)]: And you with novelty pajama bottoms. Super heroes maybe?_

_[Cullen (10:13PM)]: I mean_

_[Cullen (10:13PM)]: No._

_[Cullen (10:13PM)]: Fine. Yes._

_[Cullen (10:14PM)]: In my defense, they were a gift from my little nephew._

_[Cullen (10:14PM)]: Am I supposed to say no thank you to a child?_

_[Dorian (10:15PM)]: i knew it_

_[Cullen (10:16PM)]: ... you're never going to take me seriously again, are you?_

_[Dorian (10:16PM)]: Oh I will_

_[Dorian (10:17PM)]: I'll just be smirking as I do so because Ill know the truth_

_[Dorian (10:20PM)]: do you really think something like that would make me not take you seriously?_

Well, that had been another worry of Cullen's hadn't it? Beyond the financial security of the boat and how they could lose their jobs, was that initial worry about _the line_. He spared a glance at the Templar crest tattooed on his arm, then at the single word on the inside of his wrist - _Memoria -_ before answering.

_[Cullen (10:24PM)]: Maybe. I don't know. I thought so, in the beginning._

_[Dorian (10:26PM)]: Maybe a bit then but not at all now_

_[Dorian (10:27PM)]: Back when I thought you hated me for no reason_

_[Cullen (10:30PM)]: I didn't hate you. Not really. The opposite and I didn't know what to do about it. For many reasons._

_[Cullen (10:30PM)]: I'm sorry._

_[Dorian (10:31PM)]: Dont apologize_

_[Dorian (10:32PM)]: I didnt exactly make it easy_

_[Cullen (10:34PM)]: I feel like I should. Many times._

_[Cullen (10:35PM)]: I just didn't want to make a mistake. On deck. For whatever reason._

_Whatever reason, indeed._ He _knew_ the reason - Cullen hadn't wanted yet another person to get hurt or worse because he let a personal connection cloud his mind. Truth be told, that itch was still there in the back of his mind. It still got to him and made his nerves tingle. But the thing was… he was smiling more now. He was laughing more than he could remember. He _liked_ who he was around Dorian, after he'd let his guard down. Maybe he could venture to trust himself. Finally.

_[Dorian (10:36PM)]: I get that_

_[Dorian (10:37PM)]: but its fine now. You dont have to apologize_

_[Dorian (10:39PM)]: and we can get together and maybe sort of start this over a bit better without there being work in the way_

_[Cullen (10:41PM)]: I'd like that._

But it was more than that. Cullen's heart thumped and his hands shook as he decided to lay a few of his cards on the table.

_[Cullen (10:47PM)]: I'm incredibly bad at this._

_[Cullen (10:49PM)]: But I like you. I'll just go ahead and say that. I like you. A great deal._

_[Dorian (10:51PM)]: I like you too_

_[Dorian (10:52PM)]: Probably the worst timing we could have had but_

_[Dorian (10:53PM)]: I do and I would like to see you more_

_[Cullen (10:55PM)]: Tomorrow_

_Yes,_ Cullen thought later that night as he tried to sleep, _tomorrow._

\----

Two weeks. He’d been staying in the same shitty little motel for almost two weeks. Dorian was practically frothing at the mouth for something to _do_. He’d spent the first few days recovering, trying to find his legs back on land and to not feel a steady rocking under him, and sleeping as much as he could. That had worked for about three days before the need to get up and move took him. Sadly, Gwaren only had about two hours’ worth of interest before he had to start making his own fun.

Well, and then there were the messages with Cullen. He’d waited a while to send one, if only because he didn’t want to disturb any sleep or... whatever. Dorian didn’t want to seem desperate. If there was anything Dorian Pavus _wasn’t_ , it was was desperate. He was cool and calm and the type that other men were desperate _for_. Maybe not Cullen in that regard, since the man was distinctly different to any man Dorian had ever known in his life, but he still didn’t want to come off as clingy. They’d had to play this strange game of ignoring one another because of the cameras and microphones, and while Dorian was indeed hip to get together he didn’t want to seem... well, _too_ hip.

So they chatted. Often. More often than Dorian had with anyone, other than Felix, in a long time. They talked about work, they talked about hobbies, Cullen told him about the family visits. Dorian told him about where he’d gone to take some pictures. Small town as this was, though, there wasn’t a lot of options.

Then... drinks. It was going to be drinks. Drinks out. Drinks they were both looking forward to. Drinks that the thought of made Dorian’s stomach clench a little bit as he thought about it the night before. He’d not told Felix, or anyone, if only because trying to explain the situation was more trouble than Dorian wanted to deal with. Already he had a meeting in the morning with the producers, probably as an excuse to collate tapes and box up footage, and Dorian didn’t want the distraction of Felix sending him ‘what are you thinking?!’ texts over and over again.

Except the meeting wasn’t at all what he expected.

_“We’re not keeping the rooms for the month. You’re welcome to stay, but we’re not staying.”_

_“I can’t afford to pay for a month!”_

_“Well, maybe you can still get a flight home. We’re sorry, but we can’t afford to keep paying for rooms no one will use.”_

Maker. This wasn’t what he needed. Dorian’s heart was pounding. He didn’t quite know what to do. He didn’t have enough to cover that long of a stay, nor did he want to have to ask Felix to help him pay for a flight back... and then back when the season began again. He couldn’t. That was entirely too much. So what, then? Talk to the motel owner? Try to get a discounted rate? That was about all he could think of.

_“Sorry. Can’t help you. Our rates are set and if we start letting you TV guys stay for free, then the others will want it, too.”_

So now... now he could manage to stay for the rest of the week. Then he’d be living out of a cardboard box until the season began again. Maybe he could ask Trev if he could stay on the boat. Or Cullen. Cullen was the one who had to watch it, right? Or something. Anything.

_Maker, please just let me catch a break. Anything. Anything would be good._

Sadly, that meant his excitement for the evening had dwindled, even as he dressed and put on his face for these drinks with Cullen, and he sighed. Maybe he should cancel.

\----

Cullen woke up riding a wave of jittery, excited nerves. Tomorrow was now today, and _drinks_ were lined up for that evening. Drinks with Dorian. It made him smile, even before his first cup of coffee, and he rolled over to check the time on his phone. 8:12 AM. Maker, when was the last time he saw 8 AM voluntarily? Of course he'd wake up early on a day he'd spend… waiting. Waiting for something _good_ , and that made it almost intolerable.

Still, once awake, he had no choice but to get up, lest his back start in with the grumbling it did when he'd stubbornly try to go back to sleep. So, up and doing then. Make the bed, Coffee, breakfast at breakfast time - _how novel_ \- daily news read off his phone while he ate. Amber eyes skimmed the leading story, a new Divine to be chosen before the month’s end, though he wasn't nearly as engaged as usual. _Yeah, new Divine. We'll see if anything changes,_ was the only thought he spared before flipping over to reread the messages he'd swapped with Dorian over the past several days. That was more… relevant to his interests this morning, anyway.

The rest of the day was spent aimlessly tooling around the house, flitting from project to project. He converted the generator on his dad's old car over to a modern alternator before lunch, so that was something. Something productive, anyway, which was more than he could say for how he spent his time after lunch. The now half-finished scarf was in his hands, but he never even finished a single row because of how his mind ran with _what will we talk about off the boat? I wonder what he drinks… other than electrolytes and coffee, of course. Should I be early or a little late?_ And of course _will he still be interested in me, off the boat and away from all that… stress?_

It was maddening, all those questions without answers.

The clock told him it was still early yet, but he stepped into the shower anyway. He could spend an hour or two on the boat checking things out. Shit, maybe that would ground him a bit and make the evening run more on confidence and less on pure nerves.

As the hot water splashed over him - hot as he could stand it - Cullen eyeballed his razor. _Should I shave? I should shave for a date. Wait, is this a date?_ They'd never said as much, but Dorian had said he _liked_ Cullen. They'd kissed - spectacularly - and had spent a few hours wrapped up in blissfully restful sleep. There was implication of more than just drinks there… but they'd not said the words. _Maybe I should just keep it casual? I don't want to look like I'm desperate to impress him._ But he _did_ want to impress Dorian. He didn't want to come off as someone who didn't care. He wanted Dorian to keep on liking him. He wanted it to be a date. _This is ridiculous._ _Fuck it, I'm shaving._

So, yes, he broke down and shaved a week’s worth of stubble off his face before getting dressed. _It was time, anyway_ , he justified as he pulled on jeans and one of his nicer button downs over a white tshirt. Nothing too nice, but better than ‘I've been fishing for 6 weeks, and yes, these _are_ the same clothes I've worn for three days,’ anyway. After a quick check in the mirror - _Andraste, preserve me, I have no idea what I'm doing_ \- he pulled on his boots and winter coat, and headed out the door.

Being back on The Herald didn't help nearly as much as he'd wanted it to. He'd hoped it would put things into perspective, help him remember who he was on deck - sure and solid and serious, though he'd been increasingly less of that as time had passed with Dorian. The man brought him out of his shell, which, while freeing even under the constraints, left him reeling a bit and wondering who he really was at times. Was he that stoic deck boss who was maybe a little harsh and kept people at arm’s length, or was he the more open and sometimes silly man (if those text messages were any indicator) with the easy smiles and easier blush? He'd been both over his lifetime, but never at the same time. It was… it was difficult to resolve the two.

The boat was fine, at any rate, just as they'd left it. Sighing, Cullen locked back up and headed to the pub, the same one where he'd met Trev before that orientation class when his senses had been turned on end, a bit early. If it came to it, he'd get one drink started before Dorian got there, just to… just to calm himself down.

A quick scan of the dark, smoky pub told him Dorian wasn't there yet, so Cullen sat at the bar, ordered the darkest thing they had on tap, and idly munched pretzels.

_Waiting. Just waiting._

\----

It hadn’t been a good day. Dorian knew he probably should have rescheduled these drinks because his mood wasn’t exactly where he wanted it to be. He wanted to be happy to see Cullen, which he was to a point, and not to be distracted. He wanted them to talk and get to know each other, but Dorian’s mind was just on an infinite loop of ‘what am I going to do?’ It wasn’t fun.

Still, he managed to pull himself together: hair cut, stubble shaved, mustache curled, makeup done (though not to the extent he’d usually go) and dressed in a pair of grey jeans, a white t-shirt with a deep V at the collar, and a black cardigan should he need it. Now that he was off the boat, too, Dorian could wear his jewelry and not worry about his hands swelling or getting uncomfortable for having it on for hours at a time. He was dressed like he would be any other time, when he wasn’t at work, and as he walked toward the pub he wondered if Cullen would even like the sight of him like this. Why would he? Dorian was obviously very different to most of his friends.

“Shit,” Dorian breathed to himself as he stepped inside the pub, but managed a smile when he saw that familiar form waiting.

Maker, Cullen looked amazing. He looked rested and shaved and showered and Dorian really wanted... well, anything. Everything. So he steeled himself, walked over, and leaned in to kiss Cullen’s cheek, “Fancy seeing you here.”


	14. Shore Leave [2 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day to meet Cullen off the boat for the first time arrives, but Dorian's less-than-ideal living situation and Cullen's habit of overthinking might just get in the way of things.

Halfway into that beer now, and Cullen's attentions were turned inward as more questions he couldn't possibly know the answer to rolled around in his mind. At that light touch to his cheek, he started in his chair, but he knew who it was - who it had to be. A grin formed on his lips as he turned, readying some greeting or other…

_Maker, I'd forgotten._

With all the weeks of fishing in between, Cullen had forgotten how just stunning Dorian was when he wasn't sick or working for days with little to no sleep. He was shaved and trimmed and styled just so, yes, but Cullen decided it was his eyes that made the difference… something about them made them shine brighter than he remembered somehow. _Is that eyeliner?_ he wondered, and it wasn't lost on him that once, he'd taken that touch as proof the man wasn't fit for _his_ boat. Now… now he was struck dumb as his heart did a little dance in his chest. Life was funny like that.

The grin dissolved into a silent, wide-eyed stare that lasted just a breath before he recovered, swallowing and reconfiguring that grin back into place. “Considering we planned it, I can see how you'd be surprised,” he teased. “You… ah… you clean up nice.”

 _Nice_ wasn't the half of it, and Cullen winced internally at his own choice of words. He have a little shake of his head as he gestured to his beer, “I'm sorry I started without you.”

\----

“You clean up pretty well yourself,” he chuckled as he took the spot beside Cullen and nodded toward the beer, “I’m sorry I was a bit late. It’s been... kind of a hectic day.”

Dorian smiled a bit as he took in how good Cullen looked. He’d shaved, clearly, and the sight of that smooth jaw made him want to reach out and touch. The man was so handsome, dressed down as he was, and it was... so nice. Very nice. Nicer than nice. So nice he wished they’d elected to maybe not meet at the bar.

“So,” he began again as he rested his chin on one ring-covered hand, “everything alright with the boat? No stowaways”

\-----

“The boat? Oh, she's fine. Docked and… waiting,” he said with a long exhale. Winter was upon them now, and when they boarded The Herald next, it would be to a much different experience. Colder. Harder. He wondered how Dorian would take to all the ice for just a moment before he decided that fishing, and all that came with it, wasn't particularly high on his list of things he wanted to think about right now.

“What's your drink?” Cullen asked as he shifted so he could face Dorian a bit more squarely. “Let's get you set up so you can tell me about your hectic day.”

\----

“Ah, a beer’s good,” Dorian answered, “something a bit lighter, though, if they have it.” Though he didn’t particularly feel like telling Cullen he was about to be probably sleeping in a box until the show started again. It was embarrassing. He was an adult, after all, and should be able to make his own arrangements. What would Cullen think if he heard the phrase ‘I have no money and nowhere to sleep’? He’d cultivated a certain image, one that at least made him look competent, and that wouldn’t do anything for it.

The hand not holding his chin clenched for a moment, and Dorian looked down at it to study yet another fair few rings and bracelets that he always seemed to have on. They were something comforting, something that made him feel more like himself, when he so desperately needed that right now. “Just... meeting this morning,” he went on, “trying to get everything where it’s supposed to be. Since most everyone’s gone home now I sort of became default manual labor."

Default manual labor, soon to be hobo. Wonderful.

“Trying to get anything done seems to take hours when it shouldn’t, though,” Dorian mused, “too many people wanting things done immediately, so nothing gets accomplished.”

\----

“Trust me, I know the feeling,” Cullen chuckled. So far so good. Sort of. “It's like herding cats sometimes. I think that deserves a drink.”

Cullen tilted his head and his face went thoughtful while he regarded the man seated next to him. He seemed a little stiff tonight, though that could have been due to the day he'd had. A drink would help that, hopefully, but what drink? A lighter one… there were a few choices that would satisfy that request. The smile came back as he decided - they had an ale from the Anderfels that was light and crisp with just a hint of citrus. Maybe… maybe Dorian would enjoy that. “I think there's one you might like. My treat, just in case you don't,” he offered as he turned to the bartender.

“An Anders white for my…”

_Shit, what is he?_

“... friend, please.”

That would just have to do.

\----

Dorian cast a glance at Cullen and smiled. It hadn’t really occurred to him that Cullen might know people here, so the possibility of leaning over for a kiss where someone might see might not be so much on the cards. Still, he reached out that hand he’d been looking at and rested it on Cullen’s knee for just a moment and squeezed it gently, “It’s good to see you,” he told the other man, “it really is. I’ve been looking forward to it.”

_Well, until this morning went to shit, but that’s not the point._

“You said your sister came up for a while?” Dorian asked, “how was that?”

\----

That hand on Cullen’s knee, even for just a moment, went a long way towards settling frazzled nerves. It was just a bit, but Cullen was able to relax as he propped an elbow on the bar and leaned a cheek against his fist, still turned toward Dorian, and he let the outside of one knee touch one of Dorian's - just barely, but it was still a contact. It was perhaps a little awkward and maybe a little too cozy that way. Etiquette was to face forward, but Maker take him, he'd been looking forward to this for, what, almost two weeks now? He couldn't help but want to take in as much of the man as he could.

Different. Dorian was so different from anyone else Cullen had ever met, from the way he held himself to the jewelry on his hands to the way there wasn't a hair out of place on his head… all things that had made Cullen take him for soft or shallow in the beginning, but now Cullen knew they hid a steel that maybe Dorian himself didn't know he had. He was… fascinating. Cullen was fascinated with him, and not for the first time wondered what it was that someone like Dorian could be doing with someone like himself.

In the moment that passed while Cullen considered that thought, the bartender brought Dorian's drink by, and he realized that Dorian had asked him a question. Dark blond brows furrowed for a second while he parsed through what Dorian had been saying. “What?” he asked before his expression cleared and he laughed, “Oh, my sister.” He nodded as he took a drink from his own glass then continued, “Oh, you know. It was fine. My niece is 8 and my nephew is 5, and they're both convinced I'm some sort of… living jungle gym… or maybe a horse,” he groused, though his lips were curled into a smile. “Mia, my sister, she's just glad to have any kind of a break now that she's on her own, so I let them.” He paused and then that smile went warmer and a hint of pink tinged his cheeks, “To be honest, I may encourage them. I… ah… spoil them a bit when they come stay.”

\----

Well, kids weren’t exactly Dorian’s thing. Nor was family, but he could smile and nod for that. Still, it was more than he knew about Cullen before, and that was something. That brush of his knee was also something. It made him... well, it helped take his mind off things, if only a little. Somewhat. Ish. The possibility of sleeping under a bridge was really always at the back of his mind.

“So…” Dorian began again as he beer was passed over to him and he smiled a bit, “what does one get up to in a town like this once everything closes shop?” He took a drink from the beer, and where usually he might have made a face for the bitterness this one was actually rather light and...was that a bit of citrus to it? That was nice. Better than some cheap thing that tasted like poorly filtered water. “That’s about when I go back to the room and try to resist the call of floral leggings and Antivan home goods. Some of the rugs they show are absolutely hideous, did you know that?”

He was grinning. Actually grinning where earlier in the day he’d felt so annoyed he’d wanted to hit something. Maker take him, but was that Cullen’s influence? The sight and company of this previously-thought to be insufferable man made him forget some of the shit going on? That never happened. And now he was happy to make jokes and talk about family visits and snide remarks about home shopping network.

It was those honey colored eyes, Dorian had a feeling. Off the boat, he’d noticed first at the diner and now at the bar, they were warm and very easy to get lost in. He was lost, not just in life but in those eyes, and Dorian found it maybe _wasn’t_ the worst thing.

\----

Oh, that smile was just… completely, perfectly wonderful and exceedingly infectious. Cullen returned it in kind as he felt that warmth settle in and the rest of those nerves recede back to wherever they came from. This was ok. Somehow, it would work out. Maybe Cullen was being too optimistic, considering the man had been there all of five minutes, but the way that smile lit up Dorian's face _inspired_ optimism. Or at least the desire to _be_ optimistic… which, admittedly, wasn't Cullen's modus operandi, but this could be different. Yeah, this felt different.

“Can't say that I did, but I do now. I consider myself warned,” Cullen chuckled before he finished off his beer in one long gulp and held up a finger for another. He didn't drink often, only in social situations and those were few and far between, so he could already feel a pleasant buzz. One more, though, wouldn't hurt. If they talked long enough, he'd be fine to drive home. He really hoped they talked long enough.

Still, a little something in his stomach wouldn't be remiss.

“I promise to fill you in on the… ah… nightlife around here, and trust me, _both_ things are _quite_ exciting,” he went on, raising his eyebrows and affecting a tone that said _no, no they're not_ , “But first… if I were to order a few things to snack on, would you care to share? Fries. Hot wings. Something like that. Bar food, you know.”

 _Maker's breath, the man probably doesn't eat hot wings._ He felt a little silly for the suggestion, but he smiled at the thought of Dorian Pavus eating hot wings of all things anyway.

\----

Food. They had decided to have food. Dorian hadn’t been terribly hungry after the revelation of his living situation earlier that day, so... really, it didn’t matter what they got. Then again, typical bar food had never really been his idea of a good time. All that grease on top of too much booze usually made for a messy morning after. “Fries, maybe?” he answered after a long moment, “so long as they’re not covered in cheese sauce or anything.”

That said, cheap food like that or whatever he could microwave from the little corner store had been his staples. Too many individual frozen meals felt a bit... sad. And he was genuinely tired of the same three choices of ‘turkey dinner,’ ‘lasagne,’ or ‘roast.’ None of them were anything like what was on the box, and had permanently soured his stomach against anything that needed to be heated for five minutes, taken out and stirred, then put back in for another two.

“This may shock you,” Dorian began with a small smile, “but I don’t typically hang around in places like this.”

\----

“I may die from that shock,” Cullen teased as he got the bartender’s attention and asked for an order of fries ‘not covered in cheese sauce or anything’. He teased, but his smile had diminished a bit - that statement served to underscore how different they were from one another. This was basically the only type of place Cullen hung around in these days, when he'd ‘hang around’ at all.

“And sadly for you, I guess,” Cullen went on, “but you're already in the middle of one of your two after-hours entertainment options around here. The other is parking your car in the supermart parking lot and drinking bottles of cheap beer on someone's tailgate. Or so I'm told. I tend to stay in.” Cullen said with a shrug and a half grin, “which, I'm sure, will shock _you_.”

\----

“You? A homebody?” Dorian asked, “Surely not.” Though he could picture a slightly younger, probably teenaged Cullen, sitting on the tailgate with cheap beer and probably charming any and all parties present. That sweet smile that seemed to come about so rarely would have been arresting, even when he was younger, and for a moment Dorian almost wished he could have had those moments in the supermarket parking lot instead of boring dinner parties during school holidays.

He picked up his beer and sipped it again before he lifted his gaze to study Cullen’s face for a long moment. It was almost weird now to look at him and know that however long ago he’d glared and practically frothed at the mouth in hatred for Dorian. Or perhaps... well, hatred might be a bit strong. Unintended dislike. Dorian liked to think he was un-hateable, despite the fact that he was incredibly singular, and that it had been just a misunderstanding. There had been a lot of misunderstandings on the boat, and hopefully now they could actually be fixed.

Once he sorted out this living situation. Dorian sighed and licked his lips. What scared him was the possibility that he might actually _have_ to call Felix and ask to be given somewhere to stay... on Felix’s dime, of course. Both ways. He couldn’t ask that. It might mean sleeping under a bridge or perhaps sneaking on board Trev’s boat for the rest of the time. At least it was an option, if one could call it that.

Only then did Dorian realize he’d been staring into space a bit, and he shook his head before he looked back at Cullen, “Sorry,” he mumbled in apology, “my mind’s in a hundred places with everything right now. I... this is good, though. I think I’d rather this than braving the elements on the arse end of your truck. No offense.”

\----

 _Something_ was going on. Dorian wasn't… well, he wasn't  _present_. That long pause and glazed look didn't give off the impression that he was glad to be there, little kiss on the cheek or no. Cullen sat up straight as he considered the man's face, and suddenly those nerves from before were back in full force. Was Dorian having second thoughts? Was this lack of interest? Or something else. Anything else would be preferable to the idea that maybe all that on the boat was just high emotions mixed with stress.

_Maker, am I being an idiot here?_

But it hadn’t felt that way. And the texts after. It had felt like something more.

_Calm down, Rutherford. It's not all about you._

“Ah, so you assume I have a truck,” he finally answered, keeping his tone light, “You'd be right, of course, but still.” A beat of silence passed before he ventured further. “So what's going on? Just the meeting from this morning, or is there something else?”

\----

There was the part of him that wanted to tell Cullen. He wanted to explain the situation and maybe ask for help, or at least advice, but... then he’d have to explain the _entire_ situation, probably. Granted, Cullen knew that him working on the show was a sort of last resort, but to what extent he didn’t really know. That, and Cullen was a real adult with a real (and very _dangerous)_ job that probably didn’t have to worry about where to sleep and money to eat and everything else. Against that, Dorian knew very well that he came off like the spoiled rich kid who didn’t know how to survive without being taken care of. And the last thing he wanted was to ruin what was potentially a good night by having to talk about it.

“Just some... logistics issues right now,” Dorian answered with a bit of a sheepish smile, “I don’t want you to worry about it. If you thought you hated the show based on having people on the boat during the season, you’d never let Trev agree to it if you saw everything else that goes along with it between seasons and during post. It’s... a bit of a nightmare.”

The hand that had rested on Cullen’s knee before moved again and Dorian rested it over one of Cullen’s so he could squeeze gently, “I don’t mean to be a bit spacey, I promise, but they laid a lot out at me this morning and I think I’m still trying to sort through it all.” His thumb brushed against one of Cullen’s knuckles and Dorian smiled a little, “but we don’t want to talk about work. The thirty hours on at a time was enough of that, right? Except we are blessedly free of Samson’s grumbling right now, at least.”

\----

“Samson’s not so bad when he's not running his mouth,” Cullen replied with a little grin, “... though that is most of the time.”

The bartender served up a second beer as Cullen thought on that. The little touches - they were nice, but the conversation didn't match. It was disjointed, mixed, distracted. And now Dorian didn't want to talk about work. Neither did Cullen, really, but as he took a sip of his drink, he couldn't for the life of him think of what he should talk about. They'd chatted naturally enough through text messages for days, but now things just seemed… off. Off in a way Dorian didn't want to discuss, clearly, and Cullen searched his brain for something that might interest the man or take his mind off of whatever it was that had him… worried. Was he worried?

“Still, I can only imagine that it's… trying after the season. I don't mind talking about it, really…if it's weighing on your mind... but if you'd rather hear about converting an old car's generator over to an alternator, I can do that, too,” he offered before thinking perhaps Dorian wouldn't care one bit about something like that. With a shrug, Cullen added, “Or anything else.”

\----

“I feel a little worried to ask a lot of questions,” he admitted with a soft laugh, “the last thing I want is for you to feel like you’re being interviewed on your off time.” Dorian smirked over at Cullen for that, then winked, “but I suppose that’s what all this is, isn’t it? Kind of like an interview, only a bit more fun.”

He squeezed Cullen’s hand and marveled again at just how warm it made him feel. Those few times on deck had left Dorian able to feel that warmth long after Cullen walked away, like some magic spell that left him reeling, and even now Dorian could feel that warmth curling up his arm and through his blood. It was like his body was reacting to him _already_ and all they’d done was touch hands and a very quick kiss to the cheek.

“Tell me about home,” Dorian prompted, “where you live. At this point I’m so jealous of anyone that’s got more than just a motel room, and I want to hear all about the modern conveniences that include a tub you’re not too scared of fungus to lie down in.”

\----

“I… well, it's nothing out of the ordinary,” Cullen explained. “Little town… not even a town... right on the other side of the Brecilian Forest. Just enough people for one restaurant and a general store, really. And of course a bar…” What could he really say about where he lived? If Dorian thought Gwaren exceedingly boring, there was no hope for Cullen's tiny community to hold the man's interest. Still, he forged ahead, “But I didn't move there for the amenities. It's close to the port, but really… it was the forest that did it.” Amber eyes softened with memory as he thought back to the first time he saw it - all untamed, dark beauty that spoke of freedom and an escape from his guilty conscience. “Who could say no to _that_ as their backyard? Maybe it's stupid, but I bought the house without really even looking inside after just one walk.”

\----

Well, that was certainly very romantic. In the classic sense of romantic, of course. Pretty Cullen with his eyes all soft and face looking like that about nature made Dorian’s stomach do flips. He couldn’t help but share that smile as he watched the other man talk about his home and it was pretty clear that he had a connection to the place. How wonderful it must have been to feel a real sense of _home_ somewhere that wasn’t reliant on how much it _wasn’t_ like a childhood home. Sure, Dorian had flats that he’d liked living in, ones he called ‘home’ when he was going there or whatever the situation was, but he’d never really felt much of a connection to those places. Or any place. They were a place to sleep that happened to have all of his things in them and that was about it.

“Something must have clicked, then,” Dorian teased as he squeezed Cullen’s hand again, “I can’t say I’m anywhere close to being able to buy anything of my own, so... rent controlled it is, probably until well into my forties unless some miracle happens.” It would have been nice to have somewhere that was _his_ , but things didn’t pan out like that. Or so it seemed.

\----

“Well, you never know. And if you move around a lot, that just makes more sense,” Cullen answered. He'd kept that hand under Dorian's still for fear that any movement would break contact. Despite how… well, forced wasn't exactly the right word for the conversation, but it was uneasy, a bit. Yes. Despite how _uneasy_ their conversation had felt to Cullen thus far, that touch was at least encouraging… and something they'd never really dared to do on the boat. Cullen liked it - everything about it, from the soft warmth to the way Dorian's rings pressed into the back of Cullen's hand when it squeezed - so he kept still.

It was silent for a bit, edging back into that uneasy territory, and Cullen took another drink of his beer for want of something to do to cover his nerves. He'd hoped this would be… more natural. He'd hoped he could, for once, dazzle with his conversation. He was anything but dazzling, and as he opened his mouth to make some quip to that effect, which would have been almost assuredly quite awkward, the bartender stopped by to drop their order of fries. “Thanks,” Cullen said and smiled up at the big man.

 _Shit_.

A look. The bartender was giving him a look, eyebrow arched and questioning. Cullen watched as the man's eyes darted to where Dorian's hand was over his own, then back to Cullen, still wearing that shocked suspicion before he walked off to take care of other patrons.

_Fuck. They know me, know my boat. We're not even safe here._

In his excitement, Cullen had completely forgotten that fact… and how loose tongues were on this port town. Any new developments were met with _great_ interest, and more often than not, were ground through the rumor mill until they were a fine dust. It may already be too late to stop that, but Cullen tensed and pulled his hand back into his lap before realizing how _that_ would seem to Dorian. _I can't win,_ he thought as he quickly tried to recover by going for a fry and popping one into his mouth.

“Hot!” he mouthed around the fry, mouth hollowed to try and cool the offending, painful food. When he finally choked it down, he took a swig of beer and turned to Dorian, eyes watering, “Maybe, ah… let them sit for a while.”

_Maker, save me from myself._

\----

That hand pulling away felt awfully like that moment on deck, after Dorian had kissed Cullen’s cheek. It was like Cullen had been burned, other than by that french fry, and Dorian’s arm was practically on fire for that long touch of hands. He hadn’t wanted Cullen to move away. He hadn’t wanted to lose that connection that they _finally_ got to have. He hadn’t wanted to feel like another mistake or…

Then the look from the guy dropping off the food.

He’d worried when they got there that Cullen might know people here. Gwaren was small, it was a port first and a town second and everyone would know the guys who worked the boats. Maker help them, they probably knew every last bit of gossip and spread it almost as well as in the Imperium.

_Of course. Always has to be a secret, doesn’t it?_

The talking had been awkward enough as it was, so now they had that lovely added benefit of people openly gawking at them to keep it even more like they could hardly talk without some... hint of secrecy behind it. What if it wasn’t something they could manage? Sure, it was well and good on the boat when it was only a minute here and there, but now that they feasibly had all the time in the world what happened if they actually _weren’t_ able to talk? Where did that leave them? More than that, what did that make what happened before? Just some... frustration to be let out? Hopefully not. Dorian didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be who and what Cullen was interested in only when it had been seven weeks since he’d seen another person save the guys on the Herald. He wanted to be who Cullen was interested in, well, _all the time_. Or, at least, when they weren’t having to play grab ass all hidden from view.

“You’re a bit of a mess, aren’t you?” Dorian teased after a long moment of watching Cullen struggle with the hot food, though the smile that came after didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was cute, Cullen was genuinely an adorable human being, but... all this: the stuff with the motel and now Cullen practically pushing him away when someone came close enough to see them together, it made it difficult. And awkward. Dorian couldn’t focus his mind, and he couldn’t _enjoy_ this little meet up.

It wasn’t terribly fair, actually. This should have been nice. And fun. And... it wasn’t working out the way he’d wanted it to.

\----

The look in those grey eyes told Cullen volumes: that Dorian hadn't missed the way he'd pulled back, that the man wasn't happy, that this was ramping up to be a spectacular failure of a night. Cullen felt trapped between two choices - stay and be restricted or go and be the talk of the town tomorrow for leaving with Dorian. The secrecy was a bitter pill to swallow on what was supposed to be a decidedly good night, and it didn't look like Dorian was swallowing it any better than Cullen. He'd miscalculated - should never have agreed to meet here. But where else was there, really?

 _The boat_ , Cullen thought… and the irony wasn't lost on him.

But if they left now, what would it look like? Would word reach Dorian's boss? Trev? Would it end in both of them in the unemployment line and The Herald financially sunk?

What would it look like if they _stayed_?

“I am,” Cullen admitted with a sigh as his broad shoulders slumped, an apologetic little smile curling the corners of his mouth ever so slightly upward. “And so is this da… evening,” he went on, addressing the druffalo in the room head on. Well, almost. He wasn't sure what this was _supposed_ to be, date or not, but whatever their separate expectation was, he was pretty sure this wasn't it. “I've half a mind to grab these fries and get out of here,” he said truthfully, and took a moment to consider that. He bit the inside of his cheek as he weighed the two options before him: stay and let this be a train wreck or go and maybe salvage _something_ with Dorian, but risk causing more damage appearance-wise.

_Maker damn it, but I'm awful with stuff like this._

Still, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to leave. The problem was that he didn't want to _have to_. Their timing, their circumstances were prodigiously _bad._

_Fuck the timing._

“Actually, how _do_ you feel about finishing these drinks and maybe just… going for a walk? Fresh-ish air and all that?”

\----

That made him perk up just a bit. So Cullen wasn’t _so_ embarrassed as to call the whole night a miss. That was genuinely surprising, actually. Maybe it wasn’t terribly fair, but Dorian had half expected the other man to deem this a lost cause once the awkwardness got to be too much. It just... well, Dorian couldn’t expect someone to want to be seen by people who would gossip. He wasn’t much of one for it himself, to be honest. But to be invited to maybe try to make something about this work? He could deal with that.

“Seems all this fresh air agrees with me more than I thought it did,” he answered after a long moment and picked up his beer to take a rather big gulp of it. Dorian made a bit of a face for the taste, but it eased after a second and he looked up at Cullen, “Is this where you make a ‘long walks on the beach’ joke, or should I?”

\----

“Hmmmm,” Cullen hummed thoughtfully, then let his mouth pull into a lopsided grin as he took an equally large gulp of his own beer. “It may be better for the both of us if I just leave the witty remarks to you... since you seem to have a superior skill.” He paused and chuckled, “At least in that regard, anyway.”

The dense cloud over them seemed to be clearing with a decision made to move this elsewhere, but the need to do so… it still left a bitter-sour taste in Cullen's mouth. Why should they have to hide? It was getting harder and harder to remember now that they were off the boat. More difficult to recall that they could very well be risking the future of The Herald if they were found out without the constant reminder of being _on_ the boat each and every day.

\----

“In that case, I usually prefer my beach trips to include a picnic. If I have to be that close to water I might as well get to have some wine and a good meal, hm?” Dorian replied as he looked down at his beer, then took another swallow of it. Moving... moving was good. Not that Dorian wanted to hide, he was hardly _ashamed_ of anything they were doing, but it would be good to be somewhere less public. Anything to lessen the awkwardness.

He reached out and grabbed a fry from the container and managed a smile that was somewhere closer to a more normal one. That grin of Cullen’s made his inside warm for the sight of it, and Dorian couldn’t help but return it. “I think, though, that I’d... I’d like a walk. With you,” he went on softly, “I’d really like that.”

\----

A little breath of relief that Cullen didn't even know he was holding in escaped scarred lips as that grin shifted into something warmer. Maybe… maybe this could be salvaged somehow. Cullen just had to find someplace he could feel comfortable being himself, away from curious gazes. It may be all in his head, but now that he'd realized his tactical error in choosing to meet in the only watering hole Gwaren had to offer, he felt eyes boring holes in his back.

Rough fingers plucked another fry from the basket, and he blew on it carefully before taking a bite. He wasn't sure he'd be able to taste anything for a while now that he'd burned half the tastebuds off his tongue, but two beers on an empty stomach wasn't the best idea. Especially if he had to walk. Especially if he had to find a way to make an impression on Dorian. Outside of who he was on the boat… that was just one part of himself. What he really wanted was for Dorian to know all the parts of him… and still be around afterwards. He wanted this to be something real.

_Please, Maker. Let it be real._

“A walk with me, huh?” he said, tone lighter than it had been. “Well, consider me honored.” He laughed before continuing, “No, I kid. But that would be… nice. Cold, but nice. I hope your jacket is warm.”

\----

That was a good point. The cardigan he’d brought was only good for so much, and most of that was for inside a cozily lit and warm room. The elements in a port town in fucking Ferelden were not at all what his outfit was made for. “We’ll see how it goes,” he agreed before he downed the rest of his beer and got to his feet, “now... any, uh, particulars on where?”

Literally anywhere but the bar would have been good for him. Maybe, Maker forbid, he could hold Cullen’s hand and not get a look like he was about to be taken to the Void immediately for it. That said, walking usually required talking, and their talking hadn’t exactly been productive. Dorian didn’t want to have to talk about his living situation, didn’t want to worry or... concern Cullen with his shit. There was so much of it, so so much, and once he started with that there was a good chance he’d have to explain more.

That much, Dorian knew, would probably cause the man to run screaming for the forest. That was the last thing he wanted.

“Or should we just wander and see where the evening takes us?”

\----

Dorian earned a grin for that as Cullen stood, stretching a bit before he dug a worn leather wallet out of his back pocket. “I'm not overly particular,” he replied with a shrug, tossing enough bills to cover their drinks and the fries plus a generous tip on the bar. Perhaps if he tipped well, the bartender would keep things to himself. “Just a wander sounds like a plan.” He hung his coat over an arm - it was cold outside, but he was well-layered and warmed by the two beers. A bit of bracing cold would do him good - maybe it would shake the rest of that unease out of his mind. Cullen spared a forlorn look for the fries they'd barely touched before straightening. “Ready?”

\----

“More than,” he answered and followed Cullen outside. It was genuinely cold, and Dorian tucked his hands in his pockets for a moment before he lifted one to adjust his glasses. Not that he wanted the walk to be short, not at all, but he had a feeling it might be if it was going to be so damn chilly. “So... I’d assume this is the rumor mill, then?” Dorian asked once they were clear of the door, “being one of the only social places around here. They would know everyone?”

\----

Habit carried Cullen's feet in the direction of the docks. The cold was indeed bracing and, for now anyway, felt refreshing on his skin. Or maybe that was the two beers he'd had on a mostly empty stomach talking, but either way, _out_ felt a lot more pleasant than _in_. “You'd be surprised what these old retired fishermen consider worth talking about,” Cullen chuckled, “When the mayor's daughter ran off to elope, it circulated for months. And if _I_ knew about it…”

Cullen trailed off as he turned, taking in what Dorian was wearing with a raised eyebrow. He was dressed smartly, of course he was and in a way Cullen appreciated on many levels, but smart didn't, in this case, equal _smart._ “Sweet Andraste, man,” he exclaimed, tone incredulous, “It's freezing out here, and all you have is that sweater?” Cullen barked a laugh as he shook his head. Unbelievable. Dorian was unbelievable. But that was good.

Just not necessarily _comfortable_ in this weather.

“Here,” he said, smile playing at his lips as he held his heavy coat out for Dorian. “I do believe you need this more than I do.”

\----

Were this a movie, now would be the moment where the first romantic montage music picked up. Dorian knew that for sure. It didn’t stop him from taking the offered coat, however, and as he slipped his arms into it, he couldn’t help but breathe in the scent of something decidedly earthy and clean that had nothing at all to do with being near the water. The fur of the hood was warm against the back of Dorian’s neck, and if he focused for even a second he could pick out whatever soap and cologne Cullen wore that was as much a part of the jacket as the fur.

It made him hug the heavy thing even tighter around himself.

“Would you believe I never had to worry about a winter coat before all this?” he asked playfully, “or perhaps I did this by design, hm? Hoping some strapping fisherman might offer me his jacket against the elements?”

Of course he hadn’t, but Dorian wasn’t about to admit it. Not out loud, anyway. This was a good mixture of luck and Cullen’s kindness. It was there in those amber eyes that were watching him so intently. It was there in the light brush of fingers at the bar and the offer to go somewhere else so they didn’t have to sit there in awkward silence. Cullen was a _good_ man, whose kindness could probably be felt for miles, and Dorian genuinely wanted to reap the benefits. It had been a while since someone had been genuinely kind, after all.

\----

Seeing Dorian wrapped up in _his_ coat like that made Cullen's heart twist in an oddly pleasant way. The coat didn't quite swallow him, but it was close, and the sight of the man bundled up and hugging it in close was damn endearing. A flush that had nothing to do with the lasting effects of his drinks before spread across Cullen's face, where it was joined by an amused little smirk.

“Huh. So I've fallen for your plan, have I?” he chuckled as they continued their walk. “Should I take it back just to be contrary?”

Of course he wouldn't. Even if his fingers turned blue and his teeth started chattering, he'd make no move that would make Dorian have to feel this cold. Cullen was accustomed, and they had enough of that coming up, anyway.

_Speaking of which…_

“But you do have something, right?” he asked, brows furrowing in concern. “I mean, for the boat. This is nothing compared to freezing spray and all that.” And it wasn't. When they went out next, _that_ sort of cold… that was the kind you felt in your bones and never quite went away, even when you were curled up in your bunk. “I, uh, might have one you can use if not. Not that we're supposed to be talking about work… just, ah, putting that out there. In case.”

\----

“I bought one... a coat, though I couldn’t tell you how effective it’ll be. The producers give us some money for the rain gear and whatever else, but I didn’t exactly know what I was getting,” he replied as he shrugged, “but I’d hate to make you feel like you had to... you know, supply me with everything. Though I do appreciate it. I just don’t want you to feel like you _have_ to.”

Dorian Pavus was beholden to no one, even someone as sweet and caring as Cullen could be. Inviting that kind of favor only led to trouble, and while he genuinely did appreciate the thought, the idea that Cullen had to take care of him didn’t sit very well. It wasn’t that the other man said as much, but Dorian’s ego was definitely still smarting on a lot of fronts and the last thing he wanted was for the object of his infatuation to dote on him like a parent. It wasn’t terribly dignified.

Still, he leaned in a bit and nudged Cullen with his arm as they walked and Dorian offered a small smile, “Thank you, though. You’re a lot sweeter than you like to pretend.”

\----

“Hardly,” Cullen laughed as he felt his ears burning from that little compliment. It _was_ a compliment, right? He'd never been called sweet before; had never thought of himself as such. Helpful, maybe, but not _sweet_. It was an interesting change from what he was accustomed to, and not at all unpleasant, considering the source and the accompanying nudge. “Ask… pretty much anyone. They'll tell you all about it... But still, I'm glad you seem to think so, though,” Cullen returned that smile and gave Dorian a little nudge of his own. “However wrong you are.”

Cullen’s hands swung at his side as he walked and stole sidelong glances over at Dorian in his coat, fighting the urge to call it _cute_ , even if it was. Yes, it was decidedly much better out here in the open, however cold. The streets were fairly empty, and there was no reason to keep up the pretense of secrecy, but still…

_What now?_

\----

One hand moved from where it was tucked in his pocket and Dorian reached down to take one of Cullen’s swinging ones. His fingers were cold, which was terribly unusual, and he lifted it to his chest to wrap both of his own around it. “Impossible, actually,” Dorian teased, “I’m hardly ever wrong. In fact, there’s a holiday named if I am. Or didn’t you know that?” He winked for that, then chuckled a bit and shook his head.

Maker help him, he had no real idea what they should be doing or what they should be talking about. Were he not so worried it might get around, Dorian would have found them a quiet spot and kissed Cullen within an inch of his life. That was what he _wanted_ , but... no, they were supposed to be getting to know one another. It was terribly easy to get lost in the physical and ignore anything real. He... didn’t want to do that.

“So you’ll have to tell me where the best places to take pictures are,” he began again, “I’ve about exhausted everything around here.”

\----

Dorian's hands around his own felt a bit like the gentle warmth that came with perfect spring days Cullen only remembered from a time long ago. He hadn't even realized just how cold he was until he felt that low heat, and yet… all he thought was that Dorian had reached for him. For whatever reason and after such a bumbling start to the night, he'd reached for Cullen. For a moment, just a breath, that ever-working mind stopped and focused on the feeling of two hands around his own.

He'd have gladly lost himself in contemplation of just that… but then… talking. _Pictures. What? Ah. You're staring. Stop staring and answer the man._

Cullen cleared his throat, perhaps a bit too loudly, as he bit at the inside of his cheek. “Well, I don't know what type of things you like to photograph, but if you can get a ride north up the coast, Old Gwaren's up that way. It was abandoned, Maker, decades ago, I think. After a bad storm tore through it, but some stuff’s still left. Abandoned buildings, that sort of thing. There’s also some pretty coastline there, too, if you're more the ‘safe landscapes’ type person.” Cullen chuckled for that and pushed into Dorian with his hip, “Though something tells me that's not what you're about.”

Of course, there was another spot, one that came to mind immediately, but if Dorian was to go there… well, Cullen wanted to be with him - wanted to be the one to show him.

\----

“Well, I could certainly be interested in a lot of that,” he agreed with a nod as he traced Cullen’s knuckles with his fingertips, “except I’m hardly _safe_ , and I think you know that.”

The way Cullen went quiet made him just a bit nervous that the other man was getting lost a bit. Then again, that could just be his way. Dorian knew a few people that lived in their own head a bit, though none of them were anyone he spent a lot of time with. Cullen was, when he wasn’t yelling, the quiet sort. Dorian had a feeling he was right about that. He could just about feel it coming off Cullen in waves.

And it was good, but... this certainly wasn’t helping them to _talk._

Dorian squeezed Cullen’s hand, “Maybe you could show me, hm?”

\----

Cullen chuckled softly at that. “I might could. I've been up there a few times. It's been pretty well picked over, but there was still some neat stuff last time. Old bottles, signs and things like that. I, uh, may have done some picking myself.” They were quiet for a while as they walked along, hands still clasped though that dense cloud had partially settled back down around them. Pressure. Cullen knew that the more he _thought_ about it - the need to make this better, the need to strike up some rapport that wasn't forced by the truncated and intense time they'd had on the boat - the greater that pressure grew. Obsessing over finding the right things to say was just making it worse. That really didn't stop him from doing just that.

“There are other spots farther away from town I could show you, too,” he offered. _Assuming you even want me to after this, Maker help me._

And so they continued, aimlessly wandering, crossing a street here, turning a corner there, all the while talking in scattered fits and bursts. There was no destination, no point to the walk, save the fact that there was nowhere they could go in this Maker-forsaken town where people didn't know Cullen. Out here in the cold night, they were at least alone. Only rarely did anyone pass them, and then those folks were too concerned with getting to wherever they were going to really give Cullen and Dorian a second thought. That was good, better than that tight feeling of eyes on them that had been so stifling in the bar, anyway.

Still, things still weren’t as easy as Cullen had hoped. And, Maker damn it all, that warm buzz from the beers before had worn off, and Cullen was _cold._

\----

The longer they were out there the more Dorian was aware of the fact that Cullen’s skin was cold. The talking was... irregular, but more than that he was keenly aware of how cold that skin was and how the other man seemed to shrink a bit into himself. That was a tactic Dorian used all the time, and he did move a little bit closer to try to give Cullen a bit of body heat to be warmed by. It was the least he could do, after all.

“I would like that,” Dorian agreed. Anything to get them out of town. The few people passing by didn’t seem to care, but Dorian’s heartbeat picked up every time a person happened by. That wasn’t healthy. “Who knows,” he went on with a grin, “maybe I’ll shoot the next big thing and I can be one of the local artists that sells his prints in a kitschy shop in town, hm?”

The joke was a bit more of a flop than Dorian would have liked, so he sighed squeezed Cullen’s hand tighter, “I think you’re shaking a bit,” he pointed out as they stepped over a curb and into the rather dingily lit parking lot of... Dorian’s motel. Maker help him, this wasn’t what he wanted. Just seeing it cast a shadow on his already slightly low mood. “Did you want your coat back?” he asked, “or... I’d say we could go in and warm up with some coffee, but the free breakfast and coffee is only from six in the morning until eight. So we’d be in a dark, empty room, and I don’t think the heater works very well.”

\----

_Maker, I can't catch a break._

He hadn't meant to walk them towards Dorian's motel; he'd just been… walking. Yet here they were. What did it look like? Like Cullen was trying to invite himself up, or like he was trying to cut things short. Either was likely, but not at all what he'd intended. This whole meetup wasn't what he'd intended, though it had become what he'd feared as he got ready earlier. Perhaps it had been a case of the self-fulfilling prophecy, but while he was no less attracted, no less interested in the man walking closely beside him, the conversation had lagged. Where there'd been reasonably comfortable exchanges on the boat and, after that, texts that were both flirty and honest, there was now this feeling of _something_ unsaid. Something was holding them back, even without the scrutiny of the cameras on The Herald and that of the people in the bar.

It felt like a decision was upon him, a crossroads of sorts: take his coat back and call it a night, or keep trying. But at what point did this leave the realm of trying and become forcing it? Maker, is that what they were doing? Forcing it?

Was Cullen ready to admit defeat?

Now that they'd stopped a moment, Cullen turned so he could look into eyes that, even in this dim light, were remarkable. Bright, beautiful, even if there was a tinge of exhaustion or worry around them. And what was causing that? The meeting this morning, or was it just this whole mess of an evening?

As he considered the question - _am I ready to admit defeat?_ \- he thought of those stolen kisses on the boat, both heated and frantic and _physical_. He thought of the night they'd spent wrapped up together, and how tender that had been, how well he'd slept surrounded by the touch and smell of Dorian. He thought of the conversations they'd had, how Dorian had made him smile, made him laugh in spite of himself. How he'd felt like a better person for it.

No, he wasn't near ready to admit defeat. He just… Cullen didn't see a clear path forward. He didn't have a plan, and that was uncomfortable territory. 

And then there was that worry, the way Dorian's face had pulled closed and darkened, just a touch, but it was still there. What if _Dorian_ was done?

“I'm fine, I promise,” he replied, even as he consciously kept his teeth from rattling in his skull. “I… I can keep walking, but if you'd rather not… I mean, I'd understand.”

_I'd understand if the flame was gone now that you know how… dull I am._

\----

“I just don’t want you to be cold,” Dorian pointed out as he shuffled in a little closer and tried to offer a smile, “though it seems we both be a bit on edge about all this, hm?”

Which was the understatement of the evening, but it was probably better to have it out there instead of them fumbling around. Dorian could read it in Cullen’s face that he was worried, and the last thing he wanted was to scare the other man off because he was slightly distracted and things weren’t exactly going the way they’d hoped.

“It’s a bit different when there’s more than two minutes at a time to try to talk, isn’t it?” he asked, “and I’m... Maker, I can be a bit weird during this smalltalk phase of things.”

\----

Well, that actually made it so Cullen could breathe a bit easier. Something about Dorian admitting that this was a… less than stellar evening was oddly reassuring. At the very least, it meant Cullen perhaps wasn't alone in feeling the pressure to make tonight successful. And just the idea that maybe Dorian was having some of the same thoughts, maybe he wanted this to be something more to the point that _he'd_ fallen prey to the nerves… strangely enough, that idea helped release a bit of that tension that had settled in.

When Dorian drew closer and spoke, Cullen smiled, a little sheepish, as he shuffled his own feet around against the pebbly surface of that uneven parking lit. He tilted his head down, golden curls falling over his brow, and he inspected the nooks and crannies of the pavement below. The warm blush spreading on his face was, for once, welcome and actually pleasant against the cold. A hand raised to the back of his neck as Cullen cut eyes bright with amusement and relief and, yes, nerves up at Dorian.

“Maker, I'm glad it's not just me. I was always bad at this part. I can't even remember the last time I went on a date,” he heard himself saying, words tumbling out before he could stop them. They hadn't… they'd never said it was a _date_ , never agreed to more than drinks. Cullen had wondered. Truth be told, he'd _wanted_ it to be. But they'd never talked about it in those terms. He may have just made a fool of himself, and that realization made him straighten, eyes wide and mouth open for just a breath before he went on. “I mean… that is, if _you_ … I just wasn't sure if that's what…” A beat of silence passed as Cullen tried to find the words. Giving up, he heaved a sigh and ran a hand over his face. “Andraste’s blood, I'm sorry.”

\----

One eyebrow cocked for that. Of course Dorian had wondered what _exactly_ this little meeting was, date or not, but to hear the word said out loud made his heart pound a bit. He hadn’t been on a date in only the Maker knew how long, since that wasn't his usual way to meet people, so for it be such a casual thing to contemplate was just... strange.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he answered as he squeezed the hand that he still held, “I was maybe wondering about that too. If, you know, the people seeing didn’t maybe put a damper on what this possibly might’ve been.”

Maker help him, though, that blush and watching Cullen like that was actually sweet. It made him want to pull the man close and maybe help to keep him warm in a different way. Except tonight was feeling a bit like a swing and a miss, no matter how much they seemed to be able to understand one another. Dorian wasn’t in the best headspace for a date, no matter how much he wanted to get to know Cullen, and this place wasn’t the best to try to get some alone time. It just...wasn’t right, not yet.

He thought for a moment as he studied Cullen’s face, then bit at his lip for a moment, “I have a thought,” Dorian began, “and you can agree, or not, but... maybe this night got off on the wrong foot? And I was maybe hoping we could try this again and plan to, you know, maybe not walk into the one place where everyone knows you and will gossip about your date for the next three months? If that’s something you’d be okay with?”

\----

“That wasn't my best decision ever, to meet there,” Cullen admitted softly before he felt a prick of anger scratching around the corners of his mind. It was the low-burning frustration of _why_. Why should it _matter_ where they meet? Why should it matter who sees?

But of course, Cullen knew the answer to those questions, knew it very well. All there was for him to do about that little spike of anger was to just… swallow it and make the best of this second chance Dorian was proposing. At least the man didn't want to wash his hands of this nonsense entirely. That was something.

“We seem to have a bad habit of starting things off on the wrong foot,” Cullen finally said, and a noise that could have been either a sigh or a chuckle escaped his lips. “... but, so long as we eventually find the right one…” he went on and squeezed that warm hand wrapped around his own right back. “I think another try is in order. I'm glad you… I'm glad you still want to.”

\----

He smiled, “We can plan to see some of those sights?” Dorian offered, “make a day of it?” It was good to know Cullen seemed to like the idea, anyway. This, what they were trying, wasn’t really working so well. Besides, if they went off together there was a significantly better chance they’d be more relaxed and actually talk. Imagine that.

One hand let go of Cullen’s as he slowed to a stop and smoothed that hand along the other man’s arm. Dorian stepped in a bit so he was in Cullen’s space and tipped his chin up so he could kiss him just shy of those scarred lips, “but I’m glad we did this. Awkward as it is, a bit.” He cut a glance back toward the hotel and took a breath, “how does the weekend sound? We could pack lunches or get them from somewhere, if you don’t mind coming down here first?”


	15. Shore Leave [3 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After that awkward evening, Cullen looks forward to trying again with Dorian... but he doesn't expect what's coming.

That kiss was sweet warmth against Cullen's cold skin. He felt a soft puff of breath against his cheek, inhaled just a hint of whatever scent the other man wore that always seemed to make Cullen's knees weak and felt something in his chest flutter even as it ached. They'd wasted so much time tonight, all because Cullen had chosen poorly. All because they _still_ had to be careful. So yes, his heart ached even as he melted a little from such a simple gesture.

_Next time. Next time will be better._

Rough hands sought out one of Dorian's as the scarred half of Cullen’s mouth curled up into a smile. He felt… more natural now. Of course he did, now that they were calling it a night. But there would be plans, at least, to try again. That was… more than he'd thought probable ten minutes ago.

“That sounds perfect,” he replied in a soft almost-husk of a whisper before he cleared his throat to begin again. “A day, like you said. For seeing the sights.” _Except nothing I show will compare to you._ The blush resurged for that thought and Cullen bit his lip and chuckled at his own silliness. “I bring the lunch, you bring your… _you_ … and we'll call it even.”

\----

That made Dorian smile, though what really did it was watching Cullen bite his lip like that. _Maker,_ the things he would have given to see that man biting his lip like that for a whole host of reasons. That and that blush was just... it wasn’t fair. Nothing about how good Cullen looked under the night sky was fair. The hand resting on Cullen’s arm lifted and Dorian reached up to cup that scruffy face in a slightly warmer hand, “Well, I am a treasure in and of myself, aren’t I?” he teased with a wink, then brushed his thumb along Cullen’s cheek, “I can bring my camera. How’s that?”

Cullen’s skin was cold under his palm, which made Dorian very much want to wrap his arms around him to help warm up. That was only the nice thing to do, wasn’t it? Or, at least, it was the nice thing that Dorian _wanted_ to do. Actually, what he would have _loved_ to do would be to invite Cullen back to his room, but... in that motel? Dorian hardly trusted lying clothed on the bed, let alone actually _doing_ anything on it.

“Will you call me when you get back home?” Dorian asked gently, “or send a message? So I know you made it alright? It’s a bit of a drive, and I want to make sure you get there okay.”

\----

“Of course,” Cullen replied as he pressed his cheek a little into the warmth of Dorian's hand. It was touching, that little contact and the request to let him know when Cullen made it home. Years had passed since anyone other than Mia or his parents had made a similar ask, and his little grin grew wider. Why couldn't it have been like this all night?

_Ah well. Tomorrow is, as they say, another day._

Still it felt odd to say goodbye and just… walk away. Odder still, maybe, to go in for an actual kiss, considering the off evening they were recovering from. Cullen's hand raised to tug a bit on the drawstring that pulled the hood closed on his coat before he quickly leaned in to press a kiss to Dorian's forehead. Just as swiftly, he raised that hood up and over Dorian's head as he pulled back with a chuckle and a little twinkle in his eye, knowing he'd probably wrecked whatever styling the man had done to tame that fluffy mop of dark hair. “Warmer like that, right? You, ah, you hold on to it so you stay that way, ok? Looks better on you anyway.”

\----

Maker help him. Just... help him. Cullen Rutherford, the man who was so damned serious on that boat about everything, was _goofy_. Absolutely goofy when he was away from work. It was almost impossible to reconcile that, since when he looked at Cullen he still saw that super serious man. Now that man was mussing his hair and grinning at him like a cat who got the cream. He didn’t close his eyes, but he did send up a quick prayer:

_Maker help me... let him want this to be something. Please, let me have this insufferable, goofy man in my life for a while. Please._

“I think after that I don’t think I could take it off if I wanted to, anyway,” he answered then reached out with both hands to pull Cullen up against him and so they were wrapped up together for a moment, “I’ll give it back over the weekend. I doubt I’d have anything to swap it for, but...we could try.” His fingers dug in a bit at Cullen’s hips and he smiled up at the other man from under the hood, “I’m... sorry tonight wasn’t what we hoped. I think a do-over would be good. At least, uh, I’d like it. Another chance, anyway.”

\----

“Then that makes two of us,” Cullen admitted, soaking up every bit of heat from that brief closeness as he absolutely could. And then there was nothing more to say except goodnights that were blessedly more hopeful for their weekend plans than relieved that the night was over. With a smile and a little wave - _Maker, did I just wave? -_ Cullen turned and began the walk back to his truck, which seemed just a bit colder now that he was on his own.

The drive home was set to a backdrop of guilty pleasure rock ballads Cullen put on to try and take his mind off what a trainwreck that whole thing had been. And it had been… but that ending had at least been sweet. That was a comfort, and Cullen found that his skin still tingled where Dorian had touched him… so maybe it hadn't been _all_ bad.

The promised message was sent as soon as Cullen was safely inside his house. When he finally went to bed, the last image in his head was the sight of Dorian's face framed with fur that was nearly the same shade of grey as those remarkable eyes looking up at him.

After that, days passed much as they had before the ill-fated attempt at meeting for drinks. Cullen puttered around his house, did some shopping, worked on his car, texted with Dorian. Well, they texted a bit, anyway; enough to make plans to meet late Saturday morning and head out. The rapid-fire back and forth of before had slowed considerably from Dorian's side. A little disconcerting, but they had _plans_ , so Cullen tried not to worry.

_Tried._

\----

A week. He’d had a week to figure out his living situation, but somehow every shitty motel he’d called was _more_ expensive than the one he was staying, and that really didn’t help him. At all. His bank account would maybe allow for another week at best, and then he’d be stuck back in the same situation, and really the waiting to essentially be homeless was worse than calling all of those places to try to find _something_.

But there wasn’t anything, and that was the problem.

So now it was Thursday, and he was due to be ceremoniously be tossed out on his arse at eleven the next morning. It wasn’t even late check out, since apparently that same woman behind the desk didn’t believe in such things. That was a crime all its own, really. It meant he’d been chain smoking for two days and trying to figure all this out, because he _wanted_ to figure it out on his own. He _wanted_ to be a functional adult and fix his own problems. What was there to do, though?

_Text: Cullen (7:46PM): So I hate to do this to u but are u busy at the moment?_

It took a long time of staring at his phone to even send that message. He hadn’t want to, hadn’t wanted to ask for him. More than that, he hadn’t wanted to ask _Cullen_ for help. Dorian wanted to be impressive and dazzling, and being broke and homeless certainly wasn’t either of those things. It was pathetic and most assuredly made him feel terribly weak. He should have been able to _handle_ this without calling his... what? Not boyfriend. Friend? Friend he was completely infatuated with? Friend he was completely infatuated with and very much wanted to kiss until neither of them could breathe? Whatever they were, Dorian didn’t want to upset that with his actual real life problems. And it most certainly would, he knew that better than he knew himself.

There wasn’t another option, though.

So he sighed, lit up another cigarette, shifted a little on the low wall of the motel that he was sitting on, and clicked Cullen’s name on his phone again to call him. Maker help him, hopefully the other man would have some kind of advice or an idea of what he could do. Even if it was just squatting on Trev’s boat for a while, it would be better than the possible cardboard box or sleeping under a bridge or whatever it was he was going to have to do.

\----

“Ow! Shit!”

Cullen was elbow-deep in a partially assembled carburetor when his phone went off, chiming and vibrating where it sat on his garage work bench. The work had been fiddly and required all his concentration, so he'd been a little lost in fuel lines and seals and so many screws. The phone excitedly chirping at him from across the garage pulled him back - violently, as it turned out, and he'd jerked his head into the hood with shock. A tray full of more screws and lines upset with the sudden movement and fell, scattering its contents across the floor and into the engine itself.

 _Great,_ Cullen thought, rolling his eyes and sighing as he reached for a rag to clean his hands. When he picked up his phone, though, the scowl faded into a smile. _Dorian._ He accepted the call, sliding one grease-covered thumb across the screen, and held the phone to his ear. “Hey, you,” he greeted, “What's up?”

\----

Well, shit, he hadn’t actually expected Cullen to answer. He had no reason to think otherwise, but there was a part of him that kind of hoped it would go to voicemail. If only to prolong the inevitable. Dorian took a breath and sucked in another lungful of smoke before he pressed the phone more closely to his ear, “I half pictured you bent over the car and wouldn’t hear the phone,” he teased, “er... I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

With his personal shit. Interrupting Cullen’s time off with his shitty life problems. Great.

\----

Something about Dorian's tone made that smile melt and draw Cullen's brows together in concern. The man's normally smooth voice seemed… smaller somehow and a little unsure. _Something’s wrong._ Just the fact that Dorian was actually calling instead of texting should have tipped that off.

“Well, you wouldn't be wrong about the car, but it's nothing that can't wait. What's going on?”

Cullen began chewing the inside of his cheek as he waited for the answer.

\----

Dorian exhaled that lungful of smoke and rubbed at his forehead with his thumb. Maker, he really didn’t want to do this. “So…” he began slowly before he pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses with the fingers not currently occupied with his cigarette, “last weekend when I was a bit, er, _distracted,_ I told you it was because of a meeting with work, yes? It was more about the, uh, living situation here. I was under the impression the production team kept the rooms for the whole break... apparently I was wrong.”

His cheeks were burning. Dorian was actually blushing talking about this.

“I’m sort of being tossed out tomorrow,” he went on more softly, “and I don’t actually have the money to put up for another however long. I was hoping you might... well, not to put a damper on the weekend, but I was hoping you might know somewhere that I could stay for a while? Since you live around here and might know somewhere that’s not listed on the hotel search sites.”

\----

“Shit,” Cullen breathed as he leaned a hip against his work table, “That's _rough_ , man. And kind of shitty of them… more than kind of, actually…” He exhaled heavily as his mind brought up all the options even remotely close to Gwaren, cycling through and rejecting each in turn. “Hold on, I'm thinking,” he said, mostly to stall for time. There was hardly anything in the area except…

“Well, there's one thing, but you're not gonna like it. It's like a… a hostel, I guess, but for people who go hiking in the forest. So it's cheap, but it's with other people and hardly better than camping.”

Which just… considering the season that was drawing closer and how _hard_ that was going to be… two weeks of Camp Hostel wasn't appealing, not even to Cullen. Dorian should be somewhere comfortable. He should be somewhere warm. He should be…

_Here. He should be here._

“Unless you'd _rather_ … I mean, you _could_ …” _Wait, what am I thinking? He hardly knows me, really, and we couldn't even meet for drinks without it getting weird. Granted that was the location and this housing situation, but still._ “No, I'm sorry. You probably wouldn't want to do that. Let me keep thinking.”

\----

Maker, no... no hostel. Dorian could only imagine the shit show that would be. Not that he wasn’t _completely_ against them. They had a place, but it wasn’t for extended stay, and more certainly _not_ while he had his expensive camera equipment. He’d prefer a room he could lock the door, at the very least, and not shared with however many people.

“Anything, Cullen,” Dorian prompted, “even if it’s just maybe letting me stay on the boat for a while? At least for a little while? Though I’m not sure how happy Trev would be with that.”

\----

“Oh, not very. It's less Trev and more the boat’s owner, but _I_ can't even stay during break. Something about the insurance. Trust me, I asked.” Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if he should just suggest what he'd been thinking. How would it seem, just asking Dorian to come stay at his place? On the surface, it seemed the logical solution, and if it were any other member of the crew, he wouldn't have batted an eye. But Cullen didn't _want_ any other member of the crew, not like he wanted Dorian.

_Cullen! The man needs help and you can give it. Maker, put that aside and just offer._

“What I was _going_ to say was… I have room. It's just me here, and all I have is a couch, but you're, ah… you're welcome to it. I've slept on it… I'd say it's a damn sight more comfortable than anything that motel has. And more affordable. You know, if that's something you'd want.”

Cullen held his breath, waiting to hear Dorian's answer.

\----

Well, that wasn't what Dorian expected. He’d figured Cullen would list off a bunch of hotels and sort of leave him to figure it out on his own. This? To offer him a place in his home, of all places, was far more than Dorian could have asked for. It was intimate. It was way more intimate than he would have expected for their... relationship.

He was quiet for a long moment as he considered the offer. It was sweet and so very Cullen, which made Dorian’s heart flutter, but to ask him to let him stay for so long in Cullen’s space? Could he do that? Seriously? How long until they started hating each other?

But what other option did he have?

“If you're okay with me staying, I mean…” Dorian began just as quietly as before, “it could be alright. I just wouldn't want to put you out. This is your break from all that shit, after all.”

\----

“You're hardly putting me out, and you're not part of ‘that shit’,” Cullen immediately replied, “And not something I need a break from. I can help. I _want_ to help.”

And he did, he very much did. But Dorian, as much as he made Cullen's stomach do flips, did have a streak of stubborn. A streak of proud. Likely, a bit of that steel Cullen suspected he had within him, but it meant the man may need a push.

“Let me help, even if it's just so I know you're safe. Please?”

\----

Again, he paused for a long moment to consider this whole situation. It was a quick weighing of pros and cons: he and Cullen would get to spend more time together (pro), he’d have to swallow his pride and accept help (con), he’d have a warm place to sleep (pro), what if he and Cullen somehow realized they hated each other after four or five days (con), he and Cullen would get to spend more time together (already stated, but probably the best pro of the list and therefore outweighed the cons twice over). When he thought about it like that, the choice was stupidly easy.

“Yeah, I... I’d like that,” Dorian replied, “thanks, Cullen, truly.”

\----

“Really, don’t worry about it,” Cullen answered, “I’m just gonna get cleaned up a bit and head out your way, ok?” He worried his lip a bit, thinking perhaps that wasn’t enough. “And, hey… it’ll _be ok_. It will.”

He smelled a bit of gas, and his hands were coated in grease that he hardly had time to completely scrub away, but he did his best at the kitchen sink before finally calling it good enough. It would have to be good enough. As he grabbed one of his spare coats and keys, he spared a look around his house. Messy… for him - which meant a few dishes in the sink and a load of clothes in a basket that hadn't quite made it back to his bedroom yet - and plain, but warm and safe. Well, _that_ would have to be good enough, too.

On the drive down, he tried not to obsess over what he was getting himself into, how many ways it could go wrong, how many ways he could make a fool of himself. The radio blasting obnoxious rock music from when he was a teenager 20 years ago almost helped.

\----

After getting off the phone, Dorian finished his cigarette and went in to pack what little of his things had been strewn about the room. For as little as he had, he was amazed at his capability to just throw things _everywhere_. So the packing was peppered with soft cursing at himself and his bags, but before too long his luggage was by the door, and he’d checked over the room at least twice to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind. Thankfully, the chaos had been mildly organized, as was his way.

The sound of tires crunching in the parking lot made him look up from his phone and where he’d just sat at the edge of the bed, trying not to get too worked up about it all. He was more nervous than he’d been the other night when they’d gone out, worried that Cullen would get there and rescind the offer even though he knew better, and it was only when he put his phone down that he recognized the jittering of his knee. He slowed that movement and got to his feet. One quick check in the mirror to fix his hair so it at least looked presentable later, and he was opening the door to see the other man getting out of the driver’s side of an ancient looking truck.

Somehow, Dorian wasn’t surprised.

The cold night air hit him, though, and he curled a bit in on himself as he leaned against the frame and smiled a bit at Cullen. It had only been a couple of days, but somehow the light that seemed to emanate from the other man hadn’t _quite_ etched itself in Dorian’s brain. Now he was there again, and Dorian couldn’t help but look at him and be struck by just how _good_ and _kind_ Cullen was with his worried expression and heavy gait as he walked up the sidewalk.

“I’d say I’m glad you found the place, but I don’t think it’s hard to miss the one motel in this town,” he teased, “and I hope you didn’t break any speed limits to come take me away from all this.”

\----

“Only a little,” Cullen grinned as he drew up to Dorian and took a moment to simply take stock of the man. He was smiling, but his eyes looked just _exhausted_. Like he needed a cup of hot tea and a warm blanket and a good night’s sleep… or maybe a good week’s sleep. Either way, Cullen couldn't imagine the strain he must have been under - alone in a strange place with the threat of being tossed out in the cold looming overhead. How had he even had enough in him to meet for drinks? Even more… how did he have it in him to smile and tease as if there was nothing wrong? _Still waters run deep_ , Cullen thought, and he understood. He understood the need to keep certain things below the surface.

A wave of something - empathy? kinship? - hit him then. He just wanted Dorian to know he'd be _fine_. And if he wanted to drop all that surface appearance and just _be_ … well, he was safe to do that with Cullen. But that would happen if it happened. No way to force that level of trust.

After a long exhale, Cullen reached a hand out to squeeze Dorian's shoulder. It wasn't the embrace he wanted to pull the man into, but it was a start. He hoped it helped a little. “Look at you. Ridiculously handsome in spite of it all,” Cullen let a soft chuckle out at that. Of course he was... would have been even if he hadn't washed his hair or shaved for days and came out wearing sweats. “Let's get you out of here,” he said and nodded back to his truck.

\----

“I just need to drop the key off,” Dorian told him and leaned up to kiss Cullen’s cheek now that he was close enough for that. Though he did pause as he pulled away and chuckled just a bit. _Maker help me, he’s ridiculous._

One hand gestured to the couple of bags beside the door, and Dorian shouldered one and smiled again. There wasn’t much, which was at least something. It wouldn’t have done to ask Cullen not only to schlep his stuff around, but also to have it cluttering up Cullen’s space at home. He knew _he_ wouldn’t abide that at such short notice, and respected the fact enough not to ask someone else to do it as well. Still, the knowledge that he wasn’t about to be completely tossed out on his own was enough to at least relax him enough to not worry about that kind of thing _that much_.

He gestured to the other bag, his suitcase, and offered a slightly sheepish smile, “That’s all of it. I can go drop the key off if you’ll put that where it needs to go?” At least that would get them out of there faster, anyway. That was certainly something to look forward to. “I should only be a minute,” Dorian went on, “hopefully, anyway.”

\----

“Sure thing. Go on - I've got this,” Cullen said, smiling back as he moved to grab Dorian's suitcase. The man himself took off across the parking lot, and Cullen watched him for a moment, part of him appreciating the way Dorian moved, but most of him just… hoping. Hoping that awkwardness from a few days ago really was the combination of this mess and Cullen's own miscalculation at their meeting place. Otherwise, well, the next few weeks would be interesting.

 _Actually, they'll be interesting either way,_ Cullen thought with a snort as he loaded Dorian's bag into the bed of his old pickup truck. There was a little guilt there - despite the awful situation Dorian found himself in, Cullen couldn't deny that he was maybe just a little excited. More than a little excited, really, under the layer of nerves.

He leaned back against the passenger side of the truck as he waited for Dorian to come out, crossing one foot over the other at the ankle and trying to look relaxed. Natural. Like this nighttime rescue was the most normal thing in the world.

_Here's to hoping._

\----

Thankfully, it didn't take long to get the key situation sorted. Dorian had worried that somehow that was also going to be some sort of clusterfuck, but it seemed like all he had to do was turn the key in and sign off. That was good, at least. He sauntered out of the office with a little wave and quickly pulled his cigarette case out of his pocket. Maker, but he was glad to be leaving this shithole.

As he made his way toward the truck, Dorian was struck again by how handsome Cullen was. Even just leaning against the door like this was the most natural thing in the world made him look like some knight in shining armor of old. Only now instead of a horse and silverite armor it was a beat up truck and that warm looking number Cullen had on now. Ah well, fairy tales had to be updated eventually, didn’t they? The man was ridiculously handsome regardless, and as Dorian neared, he felt his stomach do a few flips. So he pulled a cigarette from the case and put it between his lips to at least mask the look he _wanted_ to give Cullen.

“Handled,” he told the other man as he came to a stop, “I can officially get out of here.”

And he was glad for it. He just wanted to be out of there. More importantly, he wanted to be out of there and with Cullen. Wherever they ended up, Dorian had a feeling he wouldn't mind where it was so long as that handsome man was there too.

 _Maker_ , he had it bad, didn't he?

\----

The smell of clove and vanilla filled Cullen's nose as Dorian approached. The same smell that had marked those precious few stolen moments, and suddenly, Cullen was a little disoriented. Force of habit nearly had him looking to scan the deck to make sure they were alone, and he caught his hand as it moved automatically around behind him to where he usually had his mic pack clipped. A deep laugh rumbled from his chest as he stopped himself. Old habits died hard, but they weren't on the boat. They were there in the parking lot of that rundown motel, without another soul in sight.

And still, even in the yellowing light of the overhead streetlamps, Dorian was… well, Cullen had said it before, hadn't he? _Ridiculously handsome._

Yes, it was going to be an interesting two weeks.

“Well, _that's_ something, isn't it?” Cullen grinned. “And, I hope, positive?” He still wasn't sure how shaken Dorian was under everything, so… as much as Cullen wanted to be happy for the turn of events, he didn't know how much of that he could show without seeming insensitive. “I can't promise much, but there's more than just the shopping network on my TV and less suspicion of bedbugs, anyway. And.. and I'll be glad for the company.”

So very glad, but he could hold that in for now until he made sure Dorian was ok.

\----

“You and me both,” Dorian answered with a small smile as he leaned his hip against the side of the hood, “for the company and the lack of bedbugs. Maker knows that’s the last thing I need to possibly bring onto the boat, right?”

After a moment, he reached out and took one of Cullen’s hands with the one not holding his cigarette, and Dorian looked up into those amber eyes. His own expression softened, and he rubbed his thumb along the side of Cullen’s palm, “Thank you for coming to get me, though, Cullen, really. I appreciate it.”

\----

A long moment passed as Cullen took in the warmth of Dorian’s hand and the gentle brush of the man’s thumb against his palm. It was a small thing, really, but it still managed to make Cullen's knees a little weaker and his heartbeat pick up a bit. _Stop staring like a slack-jawed idiot. Say something._

Blond waves of hair bounced as Cullen shook his head and grinned. “Don't mention it. I'm happy to help… and, you know, if you don't mind maybe making that curry again sometime for dinner, we can call it square.”

Well, there was a thought. Dorian in his kitchen. Dorian in his kitchen cooking. Dorian in his kitchen, cooking for Cullen. It was… Maker, it was so domestic and so sweet a thought, Cullen's already shaky knees got that much more shaky.

But that was putting the cart before the horse. They weren't even in the Maker-damned truck yet, and Cullen was already crafting visions of domestic bliss. Maker help him, he was in over his head here. He found himself suddenly wishing he had a pack of his own smokes, but, as he'd always done, he only smoked on the boat.

“... and maybe if you give me a puff of that, if you don't mind sharing.”

\----

“I thought you couldn’t stand these?” Dorian teased, “but I can give you one if you want.”

He pulled the cigarette case out again and offered it to Cullen. There was something like a little thrill that went through him for Cullen asking for one of his cigarettes. After the jokes before, Dorian wanted to think the other man liked them because of him. Hopefully that was true.

Once Cullen took one, Dorian flashed a bit of a smirk and leaned in closer with his lighter in hand, “Need a light?”

\----

He knew good and damn well there was a lighter in the cupholder between the seats of his truck, but Cullen nodded anyway. “You guessed it.” Tucking the cigarette between his lips, he leaned in to where Dorian was holding up the lighter and brought his hands up to cup the other man’s, partly to protect the fragile flame from the breeze and partly because why not? Every touch made his heart jump like it was new. And it was, he guessed. Despite the fevered kisses they'd shared, this was all still very new.

And then Dorian flicked the flint, and there was that single bright lick of fire between them. It caught his grey eyes and illuminated his face in a way that was just painfully beautiful. So beautiful Cullen forgot to breathe, forgot what he was doing and just got a little lost in the way the flame made the man's eyes dance. It was… Maker, it was like a little bit of the Southern Lights right there between them, just _for_ them. Cullen blinked to try and focus, inhaled sharply and got a lungful of spice and vanilla and sweetness he wasn't nearly prepared for.

He coughed. Maker, he coughed so much he bent over with the force of it and held up a hand - _I'm alright_ \- as he felt tears prick his eyes. And when he was done coughing, he started laughing. It was funny. This whole situation was just a comedy of errors, and they were bumbling their way through it. As embarrassing as it was to have broken out in a coughing fit, it was still… hilarious. He straightened and leaned his head back and just laughed until it ran its course.

“Sorry, sorry,” he finally croaked out, wiping tears from his eyes with one hand and flapping his other at the wrist in Dorian's direction, the ember of his cigarette bobbing up and down in the night. “I'm having a moment. You must think I'm a mess.”

\----

The coughing was a surprise and before he could stop himself he was laughing right alongside Cullen. Maker help them both, but maybe they both were a bit of a mess. Dorian felt like one, for sure, but Cullen might be one as well. It helped at least a bit to know he wasn't alone.

“Bit strong for you?” he chuckled, and shook his head.

Though that moment holding the lighter did make him want to lean in for a kiss. Once the fire was out of the way, of course. Cullen was beautiful by moonlight. Dorian knew that and thought about it often. It snuck up on him sometimes and he found himself smiling when he thought about that night. It was hopelessly romantic, and he knew it, but he couldn't help himself. Sometimes that sentimental part of him came out when he didn't keep it in check.

\----

“Hardly,” Cullen replied, feigning offense and nursing a wounded pride. “See?” And he took another pull of the overly sweet cigarette - too much of that and he’d get a headache for sure, but for now it was… ok. Nice, even. It still burned for the coughing fit that had passed only seconds ago, but Cullen managed to hold it together. “I’m just fine, I was only… distracted for a moment.” With that, Cullen nudged Dorian with his elbow. “I guess I’m gonna have to get used to seeing you around… can’t have any more near death moments because I’m… distracted.”

\----

“Because I'm so distracting, yes?” he teased, “now, I was promised a cabin in the woods or something. And I think we ought to get as far away from here as we can. Or I'd like to, anyway.”

Dorian winked. He was feeling a bit less vulnerable now, and more like himself. That was good. Getting somewhere warm and also where Cullen was helped as well. Standing there in that parking lot wasn't where he wanted to be anymore. Even getting in that beat up, old pickup sounded better.

“Think you can take me away from all this, handsome?” Dorian asked.

\----

That compliment made the blood rise to Cullen’s cheeks, but he felt himself grin back around the cigarette as he took another draw. “Handsome, am I?” He asked on the exhale. “Am I going to have a situation on my hands with my new room mate?”

It was funny how much easier this was than that fairly awful evening over the weekend. The fear was still there that maybe Dorian wouldn't find him terribly appealing when he got to know Cullen better. Shit, it was _amplified;_ increased by the order of about 1,000 now that the man was going to be in his home. But it was still easier. Somehow.

Cullen chuckled softly at the thought as he leaned over and pressed a kiss to Dorian's temple before adding, “But between you and me… maybe that wouldn't be so bad.”

\----

Dorian smiled for both the comment and the kiss, and he turned so he could just catch those lips with his own. It was just a peck, but he felt it down to his toes. It was utterly ridiculous, but somehow that didn't matter so much anymore. The whole situation was ridiculous.

“Well, it's certainly _something,”_ he agreed as he opened the door, “this whole thing is _something_ between us, isn't it?”

Something good. Or so Dorian hoped.

\----

If he'd been blushing for the compliment, it doubled for that quick little press of warmth to his lips. Cullen was… he was proud of making it through that exchange - _flirting_ \- without stammering or making an ass of himself. Or, well, _more_ of an ass, anyway, after that coughing fit. Even that peck of a kiss made Cullen's breath catch a bit, and left him wanting just a bit more.

Maybe it was good that Dorian was already opening the door and climbing into his truck. Alone as they were here, it was still exposed… and there was the thought that perhaps Cullen should quit while he was ahead.

As he rounded the front of his truck, he took a few last puffs of the cigarette Dorian had given him and felt the buzz hit him. Or maybe it was just Dorian's presence. Either way, it left him lightheaded and a little loose. His hand paused, hovering over the handle while he shot up a quick plea to the heavens.

_Please don't let me screw this up. Maker, I want it to be good. I need something good in my life. I think we both do._

And then he was in the truck, seatbelt fastened and feet on the clutch and brake as he popped the gearshift into reverse. “Let's… what did you say? Let's ‘take you away from all this,” he grinned over at Dorian, still pleased with himself for not being a complete idiot thus far tonight.

Then he cranked the truck, and as the engine came to life, so did the music he'd been listening to on the way over to keep his mind off things. The very loud, very embarrassing music.

 _Pour some sugar on me_  
_Ooh in the name of love_  
_Pour some sugar on me_  
_C'mon fire me up_

That was as far as it got before, horrified, Cullen shot a hand out and turned the CD player off.

 _Well, there went that,_ he thought as he gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead, face pale now and just utterly mortified at his love for cheesy rock from decades past.

\----

Dorian jumped when the music came on, and he couldn’t help but bite his lip as he rolled the window down so he could smoke. That was certainly a surprise, and as he watched Cullen fumble first with the radio and then grip the steering wheel like that, he let out a soft snort as he laughed quietly. The look of utter mortification on Cullen’s face completely made it, too, and Dorian flicked some ash out through the window before he covered his mouth with his other hand as Cullen’s giggles seemed to transfer to him.

“I’m not laughing at you,” Dorian managed through his laughter, “just...really? Is that some not-so-thinly veiled something you wanted me to hear, hm?

He turned and grinned at Cullen, “turn it back on. I... actually really like that song.”

\----

Dorian's laughter pulled Cullen in two directions. On the one hand, it was genuine and a wonderful sound to hear, considering. On the other… it _was_ at Cullen's expense. Of course it was. Still, maybe he didn't mind looking a little silly if it made Dorian smile like that, all the way to his eyes.

Cullen sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, a little out of exasperation at the scene and a little for effect before turning his head to face Dorian. “Well, now you're just making fun of me. I'm pretty sure a good amount of that _was_ laughing at me.”

But his eyes were smiling as he spoke, and he turned the music back on - at a civilized volume this time - before taking off the emergency brake and backing out.

Backed by the soundtrack of Cullen's youth, they were on their way.

\----

There was something slightly freeing about seeing the lights of Gwaren fading in the rearview mirrors as they drove further into darkness. This was some poetic type shit, Dorian knew, and that this whole mess was some dark night with an unclear future ahead. If he were better at writing this would have definitely made it into his memoirs, but as it was he wasn’t so sure just blackness in picture form would convey quite the feeling of slight apprehension and worry.

Ah well. Really, there were better things to think about. There was music to hum along to and the cab of Cullen’s truck was just small enough that Dorian could reach his free hand across to let it rest on the other man’s thigh. It was very certainly dark, darker than Dorian had ever known a stretch of road to be, but he didn’t feel _that_ weirded out about it. He’d set sail onto one of the most dangerous bodies of water in Thedas, after all. Not many people could say that.

That hand on Cullen’s knee squeezed after just a bit, and Dorian shifted so one leg was bent up near his chest and he was slouched down in the seat. What little light there was glinted off his glasses in the dark, though his expression was serene enough. “Would it be awful of me to hope there might be dinner when we get to yours?” he asked. With the music on he was pretty sure Cullen couldn’t hear the gurgle of his stomach, though he did rest a hand over it. “The vending machine didn’t really have anything other than candy that might be as old as me in it.”

\----

Dorian's hand on his leg made it interesting to shift gears in town, but once they were away from the three intersections with stop signs, it ceased being a problem. Cullen wouldn't have asked him to move, either way, though. It was always surprising, the thrill he got from any little touch - he'd never imagined just the feeling of fingers brushing his or the weight of a hand on his knee would affect him quite so much, but here they were, and his heart was thumping for it.

The question of dinner pulled Cullen out of his thoughts, turning them to a mental rundown of the sorry state of his fridge. After having such a rough time of it, Dorian deserved something delicious and filling and comforting. What Cullen had to offer, however, was… hardly that.

“No, not awful, but embarrassingly enough, what I have amounts to half a pizza left over from last night and, ah… bacon and eggs,” Cullen said with an apologetic smile smile, “Surprising, right? You're welcome to it… if any of that appeals to you.”

\----

“Well, I have it on good authority that you make a rather fabulous bacon and eggs,” he pointed out, “so perhaps that, if you don’t mind pulling out the cookware.”

The thought of Cullen making something for him was a nice one, and Dorian smiled to himself as he looked across the seat at Cullen. Part of him wanted to loosen his seatbelt and put his head on the other man’s shoulder, but driving at night might not be the best time for that. Instead, he squeezed Cullen’s knee again and tried not to imagine what it might be like to stay in Cullen’s house with him. There was the offer of the couch, Dorian knew that, but considering the kisses they’d shared already he had to wonder if that was more an offer out of courtesy. Or if Cullen might freak out if Dorian wanted to share his bed. Not that Dorian was much of one to want to share a bed, but... that kiss on the boat had been fairly indicative of probably how things would be like between them.

Heat spiked through him, and Dorian licked his lips as he studied the other man’s profile. In his younger, more stupid days, he might had slipped that hand over a bit to see just what he could do to Cullen in their time driving alone. That said, Dorian wasn’t a teenager anymore, and he had a feeling these roads probably weren’t the best ones to try to test Cullen’s resolve. Maker help them if an animal ran out in the road or something.

\----

“That I can do,” Cullen replied and fell silent. What was left to say? Well, a lot, really. He had questions, so many questions. The foremost of which being _are you ok_? Dorian seemed fine now, but it hadn't been very long since Cullen had heard that small, troubled voice on the other end of the phone. It had only been an hour, give or take, since he'd  jumped in his truck, engine grease and gasket sealant still stuck under his short fingernails, and drove off into the night. Dorian seemed fine, and yet… if Cullen knew anything about the man, it was that there was a lot going on under those smiles and that easy banter.

So he'd wait. He'd wait until Dorian wanted to talk, if ever, and when that moment came, he'd asked. For now, Cullen contented himself with wrapping his left hand around the top of the steering wheel and letting his right hand fall to wrap around the one Dorian rested on his knee. Fingers entwined as he settled in and relaxed in his chair more, and he let his thumb stroke a gentle path over smooth knuckles while he sang along under his breath to one of the less embarrassing songs on his little home made CD.

 _Strangers waiting up and down the boulevard.Their shadows searching in the night._ _Street lights, people living just to find emotion. Hiding somewhere in the night._

He didn't even realize he was doing it, but it was a habit - the song demanded it - and he felt… comfortable. For all the questions he had, he knew there'd be time to ask, so he was happy. Happy to drive through the forest in the dark, holding hands with probably the most frustratingly stubborn, frustratingly wonderful person he'd ever had the pleasure of meeting.

It was all terribly… romantic, despite the shit that had kept them from really connecting yet. Romantic despite Cullen's own pigheadedness in the beginning.

As all good things do, it was over far too soon, and Cullen was pulling into the short driveway beside his small house and cutting the engine. “This is me,” he said, pulling the parking brake up and smiling, a little sheepishly, over at Dorian. Hopefully, the man wouldn't judge him too harshly for his… simple accommodations.

\----

Dorian had almost started to doze in the warm car with the music and Cullen’s hand over his. He hadn’t fallen asleep in a car in a long time, but when they finally pulled into Cullen’s driveway, Dorian lifted his head sleepily and smiled. The house, or what he could see of it, was small and unassuming. It was _very_ Cullen. Now, though, Dorian didn’t so much want to move.

“You sing pretty well for someone who didn’t mention he sang,” Dorian commented as he dragged himself to sit up a bit and open the door, “that a secret talent you didn’t tell me about?”

As he got out and shook out his legs, Dorian reached back for his camera bag and stretched a little bit, “Nice little place. Good for one and the occasional stray.”

\----

Oh, but that dozey face was almost enough to be Cullen’s undoing. He’d seen Dorian tired, of course, but this slow, sleepy face was miles away from the way the man had worn exhaustion on the boat. Then, he'd been sick and weary, but this was just… it was so _cute_. Adorable, even, and Cullen grinned as he felt something warm expand in his chest, filling out some of the empty spaces there. They groaned, ached under the pressure of being full after so long, but they held. Thank the Maker, nothing burst at the sight of Dorian rousing himself from near-sleep… but it was close.

“Singing?” Cullen asked as he pulled Dorian’s suitcase out of the back of the truck, “Oh… oh, I guess I was.” A laugh rose out of him. He'd done rather a lot more of that tonight than he'd expected when he heard Dorian was in trouble, but that was just fine. “Well, I wouldn't call it a talent, but secret... yeah, that's a kindness. For everyone.”

Cullen rolled Dorian's suitcase around the front of the truck. “Come on, you stray, it's just through the garage,” he coaxed as he walked them to the side door. Everything was as he left it - pieces scattered around (and in) the car, greasy rags, tools out… in short, a mess. Into the house proper, and there was more of the same. He’d noticed before he left - the dishes in the sink, the clothes in the living room - but now he was looking at it as if it were the first time he’d been there, and… Maker, it felt like there was clutter everywhere. Stacks of mail on nearly every flat surface - mostly letters from fans of the show that Cullen never read but felt guilty throwing away - his knitting basket and half-finished scarf, more tools he’d cleaned but hadn’t gotten around to putting away, even a few of the kids’ toys they’d dragged out the last time they were there, blanket still on the couch from where he’d crashed the night before.

“Ah… don’t mind the mess. I, uh, didn’t know I was expecting company, you see,” Cullen offered apologetically with a little wave of his hand towards his… well, his whole house.

\----

It was a quaint little place, from what Dorian could see as they walked in, and he smiled as they came in a bit so he could look around. The place was a bit messy, but that kind of lived in messy that just happened when life resumed somewhere. It was hardly the everything strewn around because of laziness kind of mess he’s seen in others before. That said, it made the house feel lived in. Houses that felt lived in were, even now, a novel concept to Dorian.

“Hardly a mess,” he replied as he slid the strap of his bag off his shoulder, “it's a nice little place. Cozy. I quite like it.”

Dorian turned and smiled at Cullen for that, then stretched a bit. He was tired now that all the living situation nonsense had been settled. Maybe he would actually sleep tonight. Wouldn't that be something?

\----

“It's something,” Cullen replied, striding across the dining area, which was really just a table with more mail stacked up in neat piles, to place Dorian's suitcase against the wall so it was out of the way. A sigh, and he made his way into the living room, moving clothes, repositioning throw pillows on the couch, and kicking his knitting kit under the side table. “If you want to have a seat and rest while I throw us something together… make yourself at home.... or wait, I'm being rude. Did you want anything to drink maybe? Or the bathroom? Should I show you around first?” Cullen was aware he was speaking too quickly and running at the mouth, but he couldn't seem to stop it. He had guests, real guests that weren't family, so infrequently that he just… he had no idea what was proper. And this wasn't just any guest, after all.

\----

Dorian followed Cullen over to where he was standing and reached out a hand to take one of the other man’s “Easy there, sailor,” he teased, “we can do one thing at a time.” He smiled up into those amber eyes and squeezed the hand he held, “Maybe start with the tour and then we can think of something to eat?”

Though it was rather sweet that Cullen seemed a bit nervous. Of course he didn’t want to _make_ the man nervous, but knowing he had that effect on him was heartening. No one he’d ever known had ever been so eager to please or nervous around him. Usually they were fairly aloof or at the very least _acted_ more disinterested than they probably were. This... Dorian like this. It was nice to feel wanted, after all.

“So... living and dining,” he began and looked around as he still held Cullen’s hand, “kitchen in there. Not too bad. I’ll have to investigate it a bit more later, since I do actively _try_ to cook on occasion.”

\----

“Well, and I do, too, but it's just so hard with one person, you know?” Cullen answered, just standing there and holding Dorian's hand, marvelling for a moment that the other man really was there. It was a bit… surreal; different and new, but in a way that Cullen thought could be good. For Dorian, yes, because he'd have a roof over his head for the next to weeks, but for Cullen, too. It would be good to not be so _alone._

A shake of his head, and Cullen blushed. He'd just been silently standing there, thinking. Just for a second or two, but it was enough that he was aware how he might seem to Dorian. Distracted or flaky or like he wasn't accustomed to anyone's presence. They were all kind of true in that moment.

“Oh, right! The house,” he said suddenly, and pulled Dorian by the hand towards the narrow hallway that shot off the living room. “It's your standard ranch,” he explained as he reached the first door on the right and opened it. “I told you my neice and nephew visit, right? This is their room when they stay.” Cullen grinned as he took in the little bunkbeds along the far wall. “And, you know, if you _want_ a room with a door, you're welcome to it. You can even have the top bunk.”

\----

“Something tells me I might be a bit too tall for that,” he chuckled, “but I might use the closet just to keep clothes and everything tucked away.”

A glance down the rest of the hallway then, and Dorian had to wonder which door led to Cullen’s room. Would the other man show him his room? Would he... be welcome in it? Of course he hoped so. Even if it wasn’t immediately, but maybe eventually. That night they’d shared in Cullen’s bunk featured in Dorian’s thoughts more than he liked to admit, so the possibility of getting to live that again and it not be on some rocking ship where they were exhausted and tired and hurt would be something he’d definitely like to revisit.

\----

Cullen breathed a laugh at that. “Well, Gwen will appreciate that. She fought long and hard for the top bunk,” he answered as he closed the door and kept walking. “Linen closet here - towels and washcloths and pillows and such,” he said and gestured to the first door on the left. The next was on the left again and he paused as he cracked that door open, first peeking his head inside to make sure it wasn’t _too_ gross. It probably wasn’t, not to anyone else, but there was a hamper full of dirty clothes and the sink could really use a wiping down. To his eyes, anyway. “And here’s the bathroom. There’s just the one, sorry. That door over there goes to my room, so… yeah, just so you know.”

Back out in the hallway, there were only two doors left - one on the right and one on the left. Cullen waved a hand at the one on the right, “For your own sanity, don’t go in there. It’s, ah, supposed to be an office/gym thing, but really just ended up being a junk room.”

And then there was one. “And that one… yeah, that’s my room.” Cullen was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was still holding Dorian’s hand and standing outside his bedroom door. If the situation had been different, would he be pushing the door open right now so they could fall onto a criminally comfortable bed and see where the night took them? But it wasn’t. They weren’t there after a date or anything like that. The situation was that Dorian was there because he had nowhere else to turn, not to get into Cullen’s bed. Not necessarily. A quick wave of guilt that his mind had even gone there washed over him, and his hand stopped before it even made it to the knob. “So, ah, if you need me, and I’m not in the garage or whatever, I’ll probably be in here.”

\----

“I assume knock first?” Dorian asked with a tip of his head to the side, “Or... not?”

That was probably pushing it, but even just a subtle prod would answer his question. Even if they didn’t act on it, knowing he’d at least be welcome was a nice thought. “Perhaps with breakfast on a tray in the morning for you?” he teased, “or, you know... whatever.” Then he winked and squeezed Cullen’s hand. They could settle that when it came up, really. Now wasn’t the time for contemplating whether or not Cullen would pull him in there and ravish him, after all.

\----

“Well, if you come bearing food,” Cullen laughed as he turned back towards the living room. “But, ah, if the door's open, it's generally safe to poke your head in.”

Back in the living room, Cullen paused and huffed a sigh. “If you're gonna stay here for a while… and out _here_ in the living room… I should tell you that I keep... strange hours,” he explained with a shrug. “I'll do my best not to wake you, but you should know, in case that side door opens in the middle of the night… that's just me.” A little smile, almost an apology for the times he'd surely wake Dorian even if he was trying not to, tugged one side of his mouth up before he went on, “And I'll try not to, but I tend to sleep late. So, no, if I'm not up before noon, I haven't died in my sleep. Just so you know.”

He tried not to wonder if maybe he'd have an easier time sleeping if Dorian perhaps joined him at night. He tried, but that one time on the boat came to mind and he couldn't help it.

“So. Food?”

\----

Somehow, the keeping odd hours didn’t surprise Dorian at all. With the job Cullen worked and how they were up and going at all hours of the day and night, he could only imagine it might fuck with someone’s internal clock a bit. He could roll with it, not being much of a morning person himself either, and he just smiled. Still, Cullen had said ‘out _here_ like that was Dorian’s place. So... maybe that little pit stop wasn’t an invitation. Not now, anyway, and he could roll with that too. This was still new, after all, and this wasn’t him moving in. This was him needing a place to stay.

“You may be in decent company, then,” Dorian told him, and pulled the hand he held a little so that he and Cullen were in the same space. Now that they’d done a bit of the tour, he was feeling a bit more awake and less like everything was a hazy dream. That meant that now, especially since they were well and truly alone, he could do the thing he’d wanted to do the most for days.

He leaned up and kissed Cullen full on the lips. It wasn’t the heated and desperate kind of kiss like the ones before, but was soft and a little curious instead. It was also quick, though just a bit longer than that peck had been earlier. That made him feel better, anyway, and when he pulled away he smiled something warm and maybe a little bit shy. He wasn’t exhausted, but there was still some of that tiredness in him that made him worry that maybe it wouldn’t be _completely_ welcome. Hopefully it was.

“Now, food,” he breathed, “if you don’t mind.”


	16. The Lodger [1 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian acclimates himself to life on a couch in Cullen's house while Cullen plans a day for them.

So... the couch. Dorian had slept on it for two nights already. It was certainly comfortable, which was good, but it was still a couch. Cullen’s couch. Cullen’s couch in Cullen’s house with Cullen sleeping in his room. Alone. It wasn’t ideal, since Dorian had a feeling maybe crawling into that soft looking bed would be the ideal, but they hadn’t quite gotten there yet.

It was an interesting situation, though. Dorian watched Cullen putter around, ducked off through his property to take pictures while the other man was bent over the car, and settled himself in a camp chair to read a bit and enjoy the air and light chit-chat that they tossed to one another on occasions. Really, it was all very civilized. More than that, it was _enjoyable_. Dorian hadn’t lived with someone else, inasmuch as this was living with someone, and enjoyed being around them in a long time.

There was also the opportunity for little moments that they couldn’t have on the boat. They could stand next to each other at the stove and nudge each other with elbows, they could sit together on the couch in front of a bad movie with a blanket stretched over both their laps, they could have coffee together at the end of Cullen’s table and trail fingers over each other’s hands. It was _very_ sweet. It was open, too, in a way they hadn’t been able to be before. Granted they hadn’t exactly had any kind of conversation about what all of this was, but there were little kisses and looks all the time. Those warmed Dorian from the inside out, and he found himself smiling a lot more than he had been in the last few months.

Maker help him, but he was legitimately smitten with this big Fereldan fisherman. And it made him _happy_.

It was Friday afternoon, not long after midday, and Dorian had just finished up a pot of coffee in the kitchen. He fixed two mugs, one with several spoons of sugar and nearly half filled the cup with milk. The coffee was only just tan, which was how Cullen seemed to like it, and Dorian fixed his own with just a touch of milk before he headed out the side door and headed over to where Cullen had his head in the engine of his car again.

“Break time?” Dorian asked casually, “complete with warm drink?”

\----

“Maker's breath, you read my mind,” Cullen sighed with a mixture of happiness and relief as he stood and wiped his hands off before taking the warm mug Dorian held out to him. Two nights and one full day. That's all it had been, but thankfully, they'd managed. They'd more than managed, actually, and their time together thus far had been… natural. Easy.  Oh, there were the usual awkward exchanges when two people first shared a space. Things like who was showering when, Cullen _just_ remembering he couldn't stumble out into the kitchen for coffee in only his underwear when he woke that first morning, Dorian taking up residency in Cullen's spot on the couch. Though, honestly, that last one didn't bother him at all, surprisingly. Not with the way Dorian sat with his feet tucked under him, leaning into the armrest while they watched TV or he read. That was an awfully endearing sight, and Cullen's eyes crinkled at their corners for how it made him smile.

So yes, it had been easier than he'd thought possible.

Well, perhaps with the exception of bedtime. That first night was… ok. They ate, and by the time their dishes were in the sink, Dorian was already almost gone. A trip to the linen closet for pillows and a blanket later, and the man was already nodding off on the couch. Cullen went back to his room, even though he knew it would be hours before he slept, and occupied his time with TV and knitting and _not_ thinking of the man slumbering on his couch. Except of course, he was. The next night, last night, was a little less easy. There'd been more of those soft kisses that made Cullen's toes curl and his will weaken, and the moment of “goodnight” had been heavy with regret for ending it.

And so, another sleepless night had passed. Another night spent trying not to think about his new room mate alone in the living room. Another night failing. When Cullen finally got to sleep, the nightmares came, as they so often did even now, and all that added up to desperately needing the caffeine in the drink he was now sipping.

A rough hand ran over his face and through his hair, wet with sweat though there was a chill in the garage, then covered his mouth as he failed to stifle a yawn. Still, tired as he was, it'd been _good_ having Dorian there. Good… and maybe it was time to see where this was going. He could try, anyway. No harm in trying.

“Thanks,” he said with a smile, “Hits the spot.” Another sip of the bracing liquid and he leaned his hip into the car, body relaxed, but mind gearing up to try. “So, I was thinking… the other day, there was talk of sightseeing with maybe some lunch thrown in this weekend. Are we, ah… still a go for that, or have you had enough of my company for now?” His tone was teasing, but, of course, his heart jumped just a little with the question.

\----

He looked up just as Cullen was rubbing his face, and Dorian could feel his expression soften as he watched another black smudge trail its way from Cullen’s nose and across his cheek. Clearly the man was incapable of working without making himself completely filthy, but it was almost stupidly endearing. So saying, he reached up and rubbed at it a bit with his thumb, “You’ve got something just there,” he chuckled, “and yes, I’d love to still do it, if the offer stands. It would be nice to see some real scenery instead of just that little port town, anyway.”

Grey eyes searched the other man’s face and he sighed before he wiped that hand away on his jeans, and adopted much the same lean against the car, “We could pack something here, since you won’t have to go out of your way to get me. That would be nice, don’t you think?”

\----

“Well, in that case, maybe some grocery shopping’s in order,” Cullen laughed. It was the truth, regardless of what they did tomorrow. Bacon and eggs only went so far - even Cullen had to admit that. “I'll go get washed up and we can make a list.”

How… domestic. Planning meals together. Making a shopping list. Foreign and strange to Cullen, but wonderful in how normal it all seemed. He knew they were only a day in, and that what they were doing was just a… a play at that domesticity and doomed to end when the season started back up, but that didn't stop him from thrilling at it all. _Look at me._ _Giddy over a Maker-damned grocery list. Varric better not find out about this - I'll never live it down._

Still, he was warmed through, and not just because of the coffee in his hand. That little thrill made him move, the hand rubbing at his cheek spurring him on as he shifted and resettled, closer to Dorian. Sunk down as he was, he found himself looking up at the man next to him as his smile melted into something warmer. “It's.. good to have you here, by the way. I'm glad you called me,” he ventured, cheeks just turning pink and tone low.

\----

Ah, that was incredibly domestic, wasn’t it? It was good sense, yes, but it was far more than he’d ever been like with anyone else. Not too long ago, the thought of something like that alone would have made Dorian break out in hives, but somehow it wasn’t so bad now. Maybe that had to do with the warmth coming off Cullen in waves and the little pink blush in his grease-covered cheeks. Maker, he was adorable when he was in his element.

“I’m glad to be here,” Dorian told him in a similarly low tone, “and not because it’s a place to stay, either.” He leaned up and closed that distance between with for a kiss, and when e moved away he could feel his own cheeks warm a bit, “I rather like this whole... situation.”

\----

“So far, so good,” Cullen murmured before he followed Dorian back for another kiss, nipping just a bit at that full lower lip before pulling away with a grin. “But I better go get showered if we're going out into public.” He sniffed and wrinkled his nose, “I smell like gas.”

That had been the way of things so far. The light kisses, quick and never enough and in contrast to those they'd shared in near-desperation on the boat. It was like they were both… scared, maybe. Scared of upsetting the delicate situation they'd found themselves in. At least, that's what it was like for Cullen. He didn't want to push, but Maker he _wanted to push_. The problems on the boat - the line Cullen had constructed for himself, the financial crisis of The Herald, the safety of their jobs - that all seemed a world away here in Cullen's home at the edge of the forest.

But still, the way they'd slowed had its own sweetness to it, didn't it?

And so they day passed in shopping and putting away and cooking and sitting together through some terribly cliché movie where the hero got the girl in the end while Cullen continued his scarf, sitting comfortably in his new spot next to Dorian.

And then it was time, again, to say goodnight. As Dorian settled his pillows and blankets on the couch, Cullen watched and wanted nothing more than to pull the man down the hall with him. But no. He still didn't have quite the nerve for that, so he kissed Dorian, gently but quickly lest he let it get away from him.

And now he was tossing and turning again, mind full of how empty his bed was where it hadn't seemed that way before.

\----

On that Saturday, they’d woken relatively early, for them, and packed up sandwiches, a thermos of soup, and various other little elements in a cooler so they wouldn’t be hungry. It was only just past midday, actually, and as Cullen drove them back and deeper into the forest to a few of the little places he’d shown Dorian on a map, Dorian couldn’t help but feel just a little bit of excited jitters. He’d brought his camera bag with him with the express intent to lose himself for as long as he could in all of this... well, he wasn’t quite what one would call ‘outdoorsy,’ but Dorian could appreciate the beauty of the forest. Mostly.

He turned from where he’d been looking out the window so he could study Cullen, and Dorian shifted over as much as his seatbelt would allow so he could press a kiss to the other man’s shoulder, “I think the last picnic I ever had was on the floor of my playroom when I was five,” he commented, “the nanny made sandwiches but refused to sit on the blanket with me. This will be a nice change of pace.”

\----

Checklists had been running through Cullen's mind all morning… and since he'd been too excited and anxious to really sleep, that had been hours by the time they finally got underway. They'd chatted a bit about where to go and what sort of things Dorian liked to photograph, and with the forest being so very large, there were plenty of places. Cullen was nervous, hoping that the spots he picked were interesting enough. He knew next to nothing about photography, or what made it _good_ , but he knew many of the pretty and almost haunting places off the beaten path.

What he was most anxious to see, though, was Dorian working in his element. He remembered thinking once that it must be a sight to see him when he could truly do the thing he loved. Had to be… considering the determination he'd shown while shooting on the boat, and he'd been sick and bone-weary during most, if not all, of that. So, yes, he was positively buzzing with anticipation at seeing another facet of Dorian Pavus, another piece to the puzzle that would, hopefully, someday be a whole.

Dorian's words pulled Cullen from his running thoughts of where to go and what to show him, though, and he frowned for the briefest of moments. The man's tone was light enough, but the picture the words painted was lonely. Cullen had no experience with nannies - he and his sister played that role for their younger siblings once they'd gotten old enough to help. The word - _nanny -_ brought to mind the notion of wealth and privilege, but with a price. Whether it was fair or not, he'd always imagined the presence of a nanny meant the absence of family.

Plus, Dorian didn't speak much of his life in Tevinter. Granted, he hadn't had a lot of time to, but whenever Cullen had prodded on the boat, Dorian had always deflected, which always made him think that maybe it hadn't been too pleasant. Here, too, was another piece of the puzzle, though maybe it wasn't as bright as the others. Not as happy, anyway. Nowhere near what the man deserved, in Cullen's opinion.

“No brothers or sisters to join you on the blanket?” he asked, tone light in the hope that maybe Dorian would open up a bit. In the hope that maybe Dorian could… trust him a bit.

\----

“Oh, no,” Dorian shook his head, “Halward and Aquinea had a boy on the first try. Why put themselves through more misery when they already had what they wanted?” Like before, his tone was light and conversational. It had to be. To let any other inflection out would signify... well, something. That something wasn’t _right_ , and for all this to work, Dorian knew it had to be _right_. People like Cullen, people who liked order and were very sweet and kind, deserved for everything to be _right_. Explaining his family situation, however tame it was for the last little while, would just be a huge red flag. Dorian didn’t want there to be red flags.

He was fussing in his camera bag and pulled out a lens to blow across, “So you said there was an old mill in one of these places, didn’t you?” Dorian asked, “I’m actually _shaking_ I’m so excited to get a look at it, if I’m honest. This is going to be one of the best afternoons I’ve had in a long time.”

\----

So. Halward and Aquinea, not ‘mom and dad.’ Not even ‘mother and father.’ And also that word - _misery_. Those were more pieces that Cullen recorded, noting the notches and bumps, before setting them aside in his mind. He wasn't sure quite where they fit, not yet, but felt they may be important when he finally did. Important and also more than a little sad. All he saw in his mind for the moment was Dorian in miniature, a little rounder in the face and wider in the eyes, sitting on a blanket in the middle of a large room, surrounded by meticulously prepared snack foods - alone. He almost groaned audibly for the crack that image formed in his heart. A silent resolution formed then that yes, this would be a good day. Even if… even if things fell apart later, and Cullen prayed they wouldn't, Dorian would have at least one good memory to replace one that maybe wasn't so great.

He deserved at least that much. Shit, he deserved much more than that. More than maybe Cullen could give him, but Maker, he'd try his level best.

“Mmm, an old mill with the waterwheel, though it doesn't turn any more. Oh, and there's a covered bridge on the way there, too,” Cullen replied as he downshifted to slow and pull into the little gravel parking lot. “Careful with that shaking, though. I hear that affects your picture quality.”

He let the truck roll to a stop and yanked the parking brake up. “Ready for a little hike?”

\----

“I will say that hiking isn’t my favorite part of all this,” Dorian sighed, though he did smile. Everything Cullen suggested was right up his alley with what he liked to shoot, and even if all he got were a few mediocre pictures, it would still probably line up as one of the best days he’d had in a long time. Sadly, good days were at a premium anymore, and Dorian thought not to waste himself too much on them. Things would even out, he’d told himself that, and now they seemed to really have done. Perfect.

He slid from his side of the car and looked around. One hand tugged his shoulder strap up a little higher while the other pulled Cullen’s jacket that much more tightly around him. With all the trees it wasn’t terribly cold, but there was a breeze. Cullen’s jacket seemed to keep it far away, though. Dorian was grinning now, and turned in a circle before he turned back to Cullen-

“I can almost see why you’d want to live out here,” he stated, “I mean, not being near anything _useful_ would be a problem long-term, but... it is beautiful.”

\----

“Oh, there's a usefulness in beauty,” Cullen answered from where he stood reaching for the cooler in the bed of his truck. His hand stopped partway, though, and he rested against the side of the aged pickup with folded arms, a wistful smile warming his face. “The… the kind of beauty that heals. The kind that brings _peace_ to your mind when nothing else will.” He waved to the treeline before them, “The forest. The ocean. The stars.” Amber eyes cut over to where Dorian stood with his camera bag and borrowed coat and his innate ability to draw Cullen out from inside himself. “Some people.”

He let his gaze linger, eyes saying _you, you're that_ because his mouth couldn't. After a few breaths, he realized he'd just waxed awfully poetic, awfully _sappy_ , and he cleared his throat as his face went hot and his hands moved quickly to grab that cooler.

_Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?_

\----

That made him smile, and Dorian quickened his pace to catch Cullen before he moved too far from the truck. Both arms caught him around the waist and he pulled the slightly larger Fereldan to him so he could bury his face between Cullen’s shoulderblades.

He honestly had no idea why he had such a need to reach out and touch the other man. With anyone else it might have been a quick hand hold or something, but with Cullen all Dorian wanted to do was curl in close and feel that warmth near him. In these moments when Cullen would reveal things like that, it made Dorian want to be closer to him. Both physically and... emotionally. He wanted to know more about what made the big man tick and why he sometimes spoke of hurts that had nothing to do, he assumed, with the fishing. Maybe they both had a life before all this that wasn't so pristine. Though he couldn't imagine Cullen having quite the same past he had.

“You like a bit of peace, do you?” he asked, “I mean... I assume do with the house where it is and you staying on deck after everyone else.” Dorian pressed another kiss against Cullen’s back, and he sighed a little, “I could maybe do with some peace myself.”

\----

Amber eyes widened and scarred lips fell open as Cullen felt arms wrapping around him and pulling. Pulling like gravity. Pulling him physically like his heart had been pulled. Pulling to Dorian. The cooler hit the gravel below, and Cullen’s footsteps stilled as he brought both arms up to cover those wrapped around him. Full. His heart was so full, it almost hurt. Just that simple embrace was enough to make his knees weak, and he was unashamed to lean back a bit into Dorian for support.

And then those words. _A bit of peace._ Yes, that's all Cullen wanted. Just a bit of peace for his mind. Just a bit of peace for his soul. So much, after 8 long years of anger and guilt and trying to atone for mistakes made with the best intentions, that's all he wanted.

Maybe Dorian understood that. If he needed that, too - that peace - maybe Dorian could understand _Cullen._

_And maybe… maybe I understand him a little._

It hurt, Maker that much emotion out of nowhere hurt - it made his eyes burn and his throat thicken. He felt himself turning, twisting in Dorian's arms to look into those eyes… eyes that had captivated him even when Cullen was fighting that pull so _hard_. One hand wrapped around the man's waist and the other raised to cup his face, thumb stroking gently over smooth skin. Cullen's eyes were pained, but his mouth was smiling.

“I think we all could,” he said, voice a bit hoarse and low. “Let me show you where I find mine… maybe you can find some of your own.”

\----

“Call me sentimental, but maybe I’ve found that place already,” he offered just as softly and leaned up to press their lips together for just a moment , “though I’d still like to see yours. Since you’re offering.”

He smiled and lifted a hand to card through those blond waves just so he could feel them under his fingers for a moment.  As excited as he was to go around and take pictures, some time alone with Cullen seemed better. Getting to do both was almost like a miracle, really, and he leaned in again to nuzzle for another kiss before he caught Cullen’s lower lip in his teeth for just a moment.

“Do we have a blanket for this picnic?” he asked, “ I saw you grab one before.”

\----

“A blanket?” Cullen asked and moved in for another kiss, maybe taking it a little deeper than before. His thoughts were thick and slow - he found it hard to focus on much more than the man in his arms and the taste of him on his lips. His mind called up images of laying him down on that blanket to continue this elsewhere, somewhere less gravelly and more private. Somewhere warmer.

Because it was chilly. And they were in a parking lot. At a national park. Outside.

_Slow down._

Cullen's breath came a bit shaky as he leaned back. He realized he'd been gripping the coat Dorian wore to pull the man close, and he let his fingers relax.

“A blanket. So we can sit on it while we eat. Yes,” he said, shaking his head to clear it and giving a light laugh. “You're right. It's in the truck. Hold on.”

Reluctantly, Cullen pulled away, but shot Dorian a smile that was half-guilty, half-smirk when he turned. In the few steps it took for him to get back to the truck, he'd decided. They'd see the bridge and the old mill as planned, but after that… he was going to take Dorian to _his_ place. The place he went when the dreams got bad or his mind refused to slow. The place, in short, where Cullen found peace.

\----

When Cullen pulled away from him, Dorian let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. That close proximity made his heart thud in his chest like a drum, which was a new feeling. That, and genuinely mourning that loss of heat pressed against his chest when Cullen wasn’t there anymore. He’d liked the feel of it, liked the way Cullen kissed him in a way that wasn’t just abject _hunger_ , and that even though they seemed to only do little light ones here and there, they seemed to be full of meaning regardless. Sometimes they were kisses just for the sake of them, but a lot of the time there was a promise of _more_ that didn’t just mean falling into bed together.

He turned, watched the other man get the blanket, and busied himself with getting out his camera and fishing through the few lenses he brought with him for this little outing. Lens affixed, Dorian turned back and quickly raised the camera so that he might get one of Cullen half leaned into the cab of the truck. He could play it off as testing the light, though he knew that wherever they ended up first would probably be different to where they were now. Regardless, he smiled as he looked down at the display, and leaned his hip against the back of the truck while he waited.

“So these places,” he began lightly, “hangouts of yours? Or just the typical sightseeing fare around here?”

\----

“Typical?” Cullen asked with a snort as he approached Dorian, slinging the blanket over his shoulder. “What do you take me for, some tourist?” He was teasing, and why not? He was happy, no other way to say it. After that little moment they'd just shared and with the anticipation of showing Dorian some of his favorite places ahead… Cullen really couldn't remember the last time he felt so light.

He tugged lightly on sleeve of Dorian's coat as he walked by. “Come on, _Sparkler_ ,” he said with a lopsided grin, “Nature calls.”

\----

“I hope that’s not some euphemism for me to come with you if you need to take a leak, _Curly_ ,” Dorian teased back, though he followed behind Cullen happily. The view was, of course, rather lovely... and not just the trees. He could appreciate that much, anyway.

He smiled to himself, looked around as they made their trek, and after some time, he picked up his pace so that he could be level with Cullen so that he could slip one hand into the other man’s free one. It might not be terribly conducive to the hiking, but the were on a trail for now, at least, and any excuse to hold Cullen’s hand was a good one. Dorian squeezed that hand and cut a look back to Cullen for a moment before he face forward again and took a deep breath. The air was clear and crisp, not as bitterly cold as it had been on the water, and smelled like trees.

It was actually very nice.

\----

Cullen smiled a little to himself as they walked, and he took the walking slow. They had all day, after all, and this was too good not to just savor. The day was almost picture-perfect with beams of sunlight shining down in patches, punctuating the deep green with a cheery gold and keeping those old woods from being too heavy or oppressive. He knew some of the old-timers from town were afraid of the forest, claiming some old magic from a fairy tale time long ago possessed the trees, but he'd never felt so free as he did here.

And now he got to share that with Dorian. He wasn't naive enough to think the man would be struck with the same wonder Cullen had felt here, but just the fact that he was _here_ , walking hand in hand… that was enough. That was plenty.

The first stop was the covered bridge. It spanned a deep, green ravine and was an old thing, but as well maintained as it could be. This one _was_ actually one of the things most people who visited this area of the woods visited, and it graced many a postcard in the little gift shop at one of the other park entrances. Still, those things never quite captured it… those images were garish when compared with the real thing, a relic lost in time, despite the foot traffic of families and hikers and other tourists it saw in the summer.

Cullen was curious to see if Dorian could do better. He had a strong inclination that the man could, and hoped he'd share the results later. Dorian wasn't the only one excited about this.

They slowed to a stop and Cullen gave Dorian’s hand a squeeze before gesturing to the bridge. “Here we are. Mahariel’s Crossing, or so the old folks call it. They say a long time ago, a hero came out of these woods on a quest to save the world, and she passed through here on her way,” Cullen said with a low chuckle. “Just old legends, of course. The bridge is old, but hardly _that_ old.”

\----

The bridge was rather beautiful, actually, and Dorian leaned up to kiss Cullen’s cheek before he made his way closer. All the moss and greenery around it was about perfect, mixed with the wood and metal of the structure itself, and he smiled as he looked it over. Something in his brain _clicked_ then, clicked over to the part of him that shut everything else out, and he knelt down on one knee to take a first test shot for the lighting so that he could gauge where and how he needed to be.

His brain more or less shut down in these moments. Here he had the freedom to be creative and maneuver himself into whatever pose he needed to get the shot he wanted. Some of them might have been fairly ridiculous, too, but he snapped and snapped away from any and every angle he could get. It included crossing back and forth a few times, and while every so often he’d look up to see Cullen watching him, his mind was more intently focused on the task. That was his moment of peace, really: when everything else was shut out and he only had to focus on the thing in front of him. Home and family and money and work were far away, and he could lose himself in changing the apertures and lenses as he saw fit. It was freeing.

Finally, after a while, his higher thinking came up for air and he looked back at Cullen from where he was sitting at the edge of the ravine with his legs kicked over so he could get a shot, “And what do you do when you come out here?” Dorian asked, “lean against a railing and be quietly contemplative?”

\----

Well, Cullen had been right. Dorian _was_ a sight to see when he was _on_ and at work, comfortable with himself and his surroundings. Caught between amusement at the ways Dorian contorted his body to frame a shot _just so_ and awe at the flashes of finely-honed focus present in those steely eyes, Cullen just stood back, leaning against a tree and taking it all in. He tried to imagine the picture that would result from one shot to the next, and found his excitement rise. Oh, these were going to be _good._

But more than that… Cullen didn't think he'd ever seen Dorian more at ease. Certainly not on the boat, anyway, though that was understandable. As he watched, he could almost see the way Dorian slipped into that other place, losing himself and just forgetting the world. He knew that feeling, understood that place. _There it is_ , Cullen thought, and smiled softly, happy to know he'd been the one to bring Dorian here and content to sit back and just… observe.

And then Dorian was _back,_ and that was good, too.

“Sometimes,” Cullen answered with a laugh, making his way over to sit next to Dorian. “Sometimes,” he continued as he dangled his legs over the side much as Dorian himself was doing, “I sit here like this and just… think. Most of the time, though, this is just a stop on the way to… somewhere else.” He waved a hand at Dorian's camera. “Will I get to see these? Is this a… one you have to develop, or?”

\----

“I’ll probably fix them a bit on the computer and then have them printed,” Dorian answered, “I’m not quite patient enough for the traditional way of doing things, so... digital all the way.” He smiled and leaned over to kiss Cullen’s cheek, “It is lovely, though, this place. And I never use that word, so that’s just how nice it is.”

He took in a deep breath and sighed, which let all of the crisp air into his lungs with the smell of trees and moss and everything else. This was so different to his usual type of thing, but it was good. Very good. That, and Cullen sitting with him was certainly nice. “I’m worried watching me do this might get boring for you,” he teased, “since I’ve seen you give me that disdainful look on the boat before.”

\----

Amber eyes blinked before Cullen let out a laugh. “That ‘disdainful look’ was hardly because I was bored. The opposite, in fact,” he replied with an embarrassed grin and leaned back on his arms. He let his feet swing a little back and forth where they hung over the edge of the ravine. “For the longest, I was… annoyed that I couldn’t _stop_ watching you,” Cullen explained, and let one of his swinging feet nudge into Dorian’s. "I tried, believe me, but it started that first day. I told myself I was only making sure you were paying attention, of course… But I’m not so sure that was true now.”

Cullen sighed, but with something like contentment rather than frustration. This much openness would have sent him running months ago, but for some reason, he managed without stuttering or blushing - too much. Maybe it was the perfect day or being in the woods that he turned to so often for solace, or maybe it was the fact that he was falling so hard for the man next to him that he could almost hear the wind whistling in his ears as it rushed by him. In any case, he felt… comfortable here.

“You got to me,” he continued truthfully. “You _get_ to me. And I like watching you, seeing you here, doing what you love. It’s not at all boring."

\----

Dorian’s heart thudded in his chest again, and he could feel it skip a beat when Cullen told him that. Dorian set his camera on his lap and turned toward the other man, a smile on his face, and leaned over to kiss his cheek again. No one had ever spoken so clearly to or with him about anything like this, had never revealed their attraction in such a way, and it took him aback a little bit. Cullen was so earnest so much of the time, and it was honestly a little scary. To know that when the other man spoke like that it came from the heart, and wasn’t just some bullshit line to make Dorian want to stay... Maker help him, he could have fallen all over himself for that.

“You get to me too,” he commented softly, “more than anyone has.”

Grey eyes lifted a bit so he could study that handsome profile and Dorian nudged Cullen’s arm with his own. It was so peaceful to just sit like this in this place with the light and the sounds of birds and everything else. Something about it relaxed him, and Dorian took another deep breath before he leaned back a little, “I don’t think I’ve ever... well, done anything like _this_ before. How we’ve been doing it. Most of my relationships begin with falling into bed and figuring out the rest awkwardly over coffee later. This? This I like a lot more than that.”

\----

_Well, I've been falling,_ Cullen thought. And he had been, figuratively anyway. Falling in deeper with every smile and laugh and little touch. It hadn't even been a week yet - at least where they could be open - but Cullen was close to sure that this… it could be special. And that was terrifying in its own way, but also freeing. Wonderful. Amazing, when he thought about it - how they started in a dingy little community center months ago, and where they were now.

His eyes were bright and warm as a shy smile formed on his face. Cullen shifted a bit so his hand covered one of the other man’s, fingers looping loosely around Dorian’s, feeling metal warmed by soft skin as a little more of him melted. “Good to know I'm not the only one,” he answered with a soft laugh and then paused. There was a term Dorian used that Cullen hadn't missed. A… a label. Something that hinted at more and made Cullen's heartbeat pick up the pace. He swallowed to get control of a quick spike of fluttery nerves before he went on. “Is that what this is? The start of a relationship?”

_Maker, I hope so. Wouldn't that be something?_

\----

“Is that something you’d like?” Dorian asked. The feeling of Cullen’s hand on his own warmed him more than the jacket around him, and he hooked his fingers through the other man’s. Cullen was so eager and earnest that it should have been frightening, but he couldn't argue that maybe that's where they were headed in all this.

All those touches and soft kisses weren't a hallmark of just a tryst. Dorian had never felt like someone _cared_ for him like Cullen did, even in these few days, so no... he wasn't going to say that this wasn't the beginning of a relationship. How could he? With Cullen there and looking so sincere and happy, it matched how Dorian felt on the inside too. It was a little scary, in all honesty, but Dorian had always valued that. Or, at least, he was starting to.

This had the potential to be something different to anything Dorian had ever experienced. Change had always been weird for Dorian. He didn't really _like_ it, and more than that he was used to a certain status quo when it came to relationships. This would be altogether different. If they went this direction... there was a chance that it could be hard. That scared him more than anything.

\----

Several thoughts surfaced at once as Cullen bit his bottom lip in contemplation.

_You don’t even know where he lives. You barely know him at all._

And then

_The Herald. The crew. If this goes on…_

If this goes on… what? Well, they could be dooming the boat to bankruptcy. They could be putting good men out of their jobs. This _relationship,_ if that's what it became, would be putting all that in jeopardy. Cullen knew all that, had gone over it a million and one times while they were still on the boat dancing around one another. He knew it and yet…

And yet, when he turned his head to peer into eyes like a stormy sea set in a face that looked somehow more scared than Cullen felt, all that was forgotten. When he thought of how deep the man had worked himself into Cullen over the past few months - over the past few _days_ \- the old argument about the boat and crew seemed stale and like an excuse to justify fear of the unknown.

They'd kept it secret well enough thus far… they'd just have to keep it that way. They could do that, couldn't they?

_Yes, of course we can. We can._

That shy smile from before resurfaced as Cullen finally nodded. “I… I would, Maker help me. If that’s… of course, if that's something you'd like.”

\----

He could feel his face warm for that, and Dorian leaned a bit more into Cullen’s shoulder so he could press his lips against the material of his jacket. There was the part of him that would love to say no and just keep this something... well, not causal, but something that wasn’t deeper than what it already was. That was how it had always been, even if it was a fairly serious relationship, and he’s always liked knowing that things were at a bit of an arm’s reach so that he could back away when things got hard. With Cullen... something about him worked under Dorian’s skin and _got to him_ more than anyone had. It hadn’t been that long, which was unheard of for him, but already with every heartbeat he could hear that deepest part of himself saying _more more more more_.

“I would,” Dorian answered honestly, “but it might do us some good to get to know each other a bit. Beyond hobbies and everything, but... that’ll come in time.” He lifted his head and nosed a little at Cullen’s collar before he pressed a kiss at the other man’s throat. “I _like_ you,” he went on, “maybe more than I should for how long we’ve known each other. But I would like that. I really would.”

A smile, then, and he inched over a bit so their legs touched and Dorian rested his chin on Cullen’s shoulder. “Should we maybe move to the next place, though?” he asked, “we can... talk a bit, maybe? While we walk? 

\----

Well, that wasn’t exactly a yes. It wasn’t a no, either. It was more like a “let’s see once we know each other better,” which was a far more... level-headed answer than Cullen had come to. He felt the blood rush to his cheeks as he realized he’d maybe pushed a little too much too soon. It wasn’t like him. None of this was like him, not really, so he felt a little like he was floating out in the middle of the sea without a compass or stars to guide him.

What was the old saying? Fools rush in? Well, Cullen certainly felt a little foolish out there… but that didn’t keep his toes from curling when Dorian leaned in closer, bringing warmth and kisses with him. That didn’t keep his lips from smiling. That didn’t keep his heart from pounding.

It certainly didn’t stop him from catching Dorian’s lips with his own for a gentle but quick kiss. Just a little one, that’s all. And then he was grinning and on his feet, holding a hand out to help Dorian up. “Walking and talking,” he chuckled, “We’re old pros at that by now, I’d say. Come on you… the mill’s a ways up.”

It was ok. They didn’t need a label. Not today.

\----

That was a good answer. It was comfortable, and not at all like those who wanted to put a label on something immediately. Dorian liked the way Cullen would hold out his hand like that, the way he reached for him, and he took that hand again so he could get to his feet and lean in for a longer kind of kiss. It wasn’t terribly deep, but it was longer than just a peck. He needed that for the moment.

“I like this,” Dorian murmured against his lips as he stepped a bit more fully into Cullen’s space, “with you.”

He’d said that before, but he wanted to say it again. He wanted Cullen to hear it over and over again so that he always knew it. And he’d say it as many times as he had to, or wanted to, just so he could see that little smile and blush in those pale cheeks.

Then he moved away and tugged at Cullen’s hand, “Come on, old man,” Dorian teased, “I’m excited to see this mill. And I’m excited that you’ll get to see me in my element again."

\----

“Beg pardon? _Old man?_ ” Cullen asked in a scandalized tone, one brow cocked as he raised a hand to his chest. “I'm sorry, I don't recall telling you how old I am.”

Nor did he know how old Dorian was. In the long run, probably not important - but it spoke to how much they still had to learn about each other. And, oddly enough, that was… an exciting prospect. Labels aside, what they were was _good_ and full of promise, like fair skies in the morning.

\----

“You didn’t,” he chuckled, “but I’ve seen you nurse your back.” Dorian winked and squeezed Cullen’s hand as they grabbed up their bags and he slung his camera bag across his shoulder, “and you’ve not even asked me to rub it for you yet. I can’t tell if I’m offended or not." 

\----

He’d been stooping to pick up the cooler he left a few paces away before this little chat began, but straightened before lifting it. An incredulous look painted his features before he snorted, “You call me old man, but _you’re_ offended? I see how it is.” He crossed his arms and let his jaw jut out stubbornly, “I’m pretty sure you _owe_ me a backrub for that.”

\----

Dorian moved in and wrapped his arms around Cullen’s waist like he had before and squeezed him tightly. There was something about this ridiculous man that made him want to be in contact all the time, and he couldn’t help himself but to reach out and hold his hand, or hug him, or kiss him when the mood struck. That, of course, was all the time. “Oh, _poor_ me,” he chuckled, “spare me the tragedy of getting to touch you.” 

\----

“Nope, sorry. You gotta,” Cullen answered with a wink and a soft kiss just above one dark eyebrow. “It's a done deal.”

Really, Cullen could do this all day - the back and forth and kisses and teasing and smiling laughing. He was loving every moment of it, truth be told. Especially the smiling. Until now, he had far too little of it in his life, so he aimed to make up for that... and make sure Dorian was smiling, too. That was… that was almost more important.

He finally picked up the cooler and blanket at his feet and looped his free arm through Dorian's. “But first… that mill. Sorry to say that we'll soon be off the beaten path. But it's worth it, trust me.”

\----

Off the beaten path meant actual hiking, which wasn't Dorian’s forte at all. He wasn't thrilled, but the did want those shots. It was tempting to stay there like they were, though. He would have been delighted to just bask in Cullen’s company all day, but they had come out for a reason.

“At least I thought to wear my boots,” he commented as he watched the other man, “or this would have been a much shorter trip.” Dorian was smiling, and he tipped his head to the side. Maker, but he could have watched Cullen all day.

His heart fluttered just a bit when Cullen turned back to him, and for a moment he could feel his cheeks heat in... excitement? Happiness? All of the above? Whatever it was, it was a good feeling.

\----

“Sensible footwear. I'm shocked,” Cullen teased as he stopped at the mouth of the trail that led to the mill. “Good thing, too. The trail’s not bad, but it is uphill.”

In fact the trail was fairly clear - easy going, in Cullen's opinion. It was harder in the spring and summer when everything was alive, but now that winter was upon them, there really wasn't anything to get in the way. It was, however, narrow and meandered up the steep hill in lazy twists so as to make the climb less demanding. So, single file it was, with Cullen taking the lead. He did miss the warmth of Dorian's hand in his own, but couldn't wait to see the look on the other man's face when they finally made it to the clearing with the mill.

\----

The hike was... a hike. Dorian wasn’t much of one for that kind if thing. He had friends that did it as a hobby, that and camping, but it had never much appealed to him. That motel in Gwaren had been about as close to ‘camping’ as he ever wanted to be, and that was pushing it. The hiking was slightly better, since it wouldn’t last forever and there was the promise of a new photography subject, Cullen’s company, and possibly a drink at the end of it. Only just, however.

But at least he wasn’t _too_ winded by the time they got to the clearing.

When they got to the clearing, though, Dorian straightened from how he’d been half bent over to catch his breath and he was struck by, genuinely, how peaceful it was. The light was perfect, which was down to the time of day, but it was so quiet and somehow so _comfortable_. He smiled, that same one he got when that wash of creativity hit him, and Dorian leaned over to kiss Cullen’s cheek as he started to dig in his camera bag.

“You weren’t kidding about this place being amazing,” he commented, “if we’re not careful, I’ll spend all day here.”

\----

The mill really was beautiful in the late afternoon sun. Cullen had to admit that he was tempted to just… stay there. Roll out the blanket, have their meal right there and watch Dorian take pictures until his heart was content. They really could have spent the rest of the day right there, with the burbling stream that ran by and the sunbeams breaking through the canopy. It was all terribly, deeply romantic, in its way, and Dorian was clearly impressed. Cullen’s chest swelled for that - _did something right!_ \- but this wasn’t their final destination today. He had something else he wanted to share before they packed it in and went back home.

“Then we’ll have to be careful - I’ve got one last spot left for you today,” he chuckled as he set the cooler down and stretched his back, wincing as it popped. “But we can actually go inside here, if you like. It’s safe enough, and the stone and metal pieces of the grinder are still there. Might make an interesting... I don't know… study?”

\----

That made him grin, and Dorian nodded, “I’d like that,” he agreed. Maker, he did. Also, it was a bit fun to think about poking around with Cullen for a while. Though the man didn’t seem it, Dorian was a little thrilled to know that Cullen had that part of him that was adventurous. Or, well, as adventurous as it was for someone to go into an abandoned mill that possibly still had all manner of sharp and rusted implements. That was actually pretty adventurous. The places Dorian had gone had just been abandoned... and sometimes possibly inhabited by homeless druggies, but abandoned nonetheless.

He turned his grin on Cullen and nudged him, “Where should we stash the cooler?” Dorian asked, “I can’t imagine you’ll want to carry it inside with you.”

\----

“On account of my being an old man, right?” Cullen snorted and gave Dorian a nudge right back. “Should be fine out here. Anything that’d be interested is probably asleep or if not… I'd rather our dinner in its belly than us… Come on.” He grabbed Dorian's hand and pulled the other man along, leading the way. Just inside the threshold of the mill, he paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness inside. The light, scant as it was, came in slanted beams through a myriad of holes in the ceiling and walls. It was… haunting. A little eerie - as was the mill’s history. Cullen smirked a bit and decided to play that up as his voice dropped low, almost a whisper when he spoke next.

“This mill is _old_. Older than the bridge, and with a more… mysterious past. They say it's from back when we still had kings and queens. The only thing left when we tried to settle here. They did alright for a while, and then they were just… gone. No one knows where. There are records of the settlers. Notes to home, that sort of thing. And then… nothing. No trace of anyone ever having lived here at all.” He leaned down a little, closer to Dorian's ear, before he continued in that same voice, “The old folks say it's haunted. I've never _seen_ anything myself… but isn't it just a little colder in here?”

In truth, Cullen loved this place _because_ of its history. It was a riddle, and if there was anything that fired his brain up and kept him focused, it was a good mystery.

Yeah. A mystery. A little like Dorian himself was still a mystery to Cullen.

\----

Dorian smirked over his shoulder, “Maybe a little warmer with you murmuring sweet, mysterious nothings in my ear like that,” he teased, “but that’s an angle I hadn’t thought of.” And it was true. That little story made him look around again in a slightly different way, and Dorian smiled. This could be good.

He moved through some of the leftover tables that still had machinery, rusted and crumbling, on them and started snapping pictures up close where the rust and some ivy had started growing up and inside. He was entranced by those slats of light, and Dorian happily clicked away as he moved from place to place before he looked up at a still rather solid looking bench. That posed some interesting ideas, actually.

With a grunt he hauled himself onto it, then up onto a loft area so he could get a slightly better view of the mill implements. The circles of the grinders were still intact, more or less, and he rather liked how a patch of light pooled and spilled over the edges. It was oddly haunting, actually, and Dorian contorted himself a bit to fit on the edge so he could lean over just enough to get a slightly askew angle on it.

Yes. This was going to be good.

\----

Well, either Cullen didn't tell a good story or Dorian didn't spook easily. Either way, he chuckled to himself as the other man wandered off, camera at the ready. Amber eyes tracked him for a while as he looked over the tables and parts left from a time long gone before Cullen started poking around himself. He'd been here many times before, of course, but it never hurt to scan about for anything new he may have missed. As always, his fingers twitched over a particularly interesting set of tools older than he could imagine, but they were as much part of the land now as the trees. Even if he could, he'd never move them.

A grunt and shuffle from behind him caught his attention, and he turned just in time to see Dorian twisting into position on the upper platform. “Really?” Cullen asked with a long-suffering sigh, “You're unbelievable.” He'd never been up there himself - the supports holding that whole structure up looked questionable at best, and Cullen didn't look forward to trying to make a return journey to his truck with a broken leg. “I realize we're not on The Herald, but I'm gonna have to ask that you maybe _not_ do that. I'd really _like_ this day to not end with me carrying you back to the truck and a trip to the emergency room if we can help it.”

Cullen had a sinking suspicion that this man was going to be the death of him someday.


	17. The Lodger [2 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day concludes with possibility for more.

“I’ll be fine,” Dorian mumbled, though his attention wasn’t really on Cullen’s worry. It was focused, honed like a knife, at the mill’s machinery and then up into the rafters where light filtered in through the holes in the roof. He scooted along the little ledge, and it was probably good that his attention was elsewhere, because if he thought too hard about what he was doing, he’d probably be mortified at how filthy he was getting and the possibility of all kinds of creepy crawlies that might have been living where he was moving. None of it fazed him, though, and he got up on his knees to point the lens at a slightly crumbling and half open box of tools that were probably ancient if that story was to be believed.

After a long moment he pulled the camera away from his face, swatted at the air in front of him for the dust, and sneezed a few times. Maker, his allergies were going to have a field day later. Dorian shook his head a bit to try to clear the dust from his eyes and nose, but only succeeded in sneezing again, “Who would have thought a place this old would be so fucking _dusty_ ,” he deadpanned down to Cullen, “Who gave it the right?”

\----

Dorian had slipped under into whatever took him when he was working. Focus unlike anything Cullen had seen from him, even on the boat, drew the man's features into an intensity that made Cullen thrill, just a bit. Still, that concentration was focused, apparently blocking everything else out, including the creaking of the platform as Dorian moved around on it, hunting what Cullen suspected was the perfect angle to capture… whatever it was the foolhardy man was after. That level of focus was something Cullen knew, intimately, from his time as a Templar - if he'd stopped to think of the danger, weigh it against his objectives, he'd have never pushed forward - so he could understand.

Still, that didn't make it safe. So, Cullen stopped his poking about and made his way, chuckling and shaking his head at Dorian's willfulness, to stand near. He tucked himself out of the way, but wanted to be close by. Just in case. Cullen would be close at hand should Dorian fall.

Cullen watched as Dorian came out of that almost trance like focus and sneezed, a smile curling his lips upward. “Bless you,” he laughed. “Who'd have thought decades of decay would have made such a mess, right?” He imagined Dorian would be suitably horrified to see the grime of ages coating the knees of his pants and the little stripe of dirt from where he'd absently wiped at his forehead. Not to mention how dirty he'd gotten Cullen's coat. But that was alright. A little soap and elbow grease was a small price to pay to give the man those little moments out here where Cullen found his happiness.

“Now, are you coming down, or are you waiting until my blood pressure reaches critical and I pass out?”

\----

Dorian looked down at Cullen and grinned, “Tell me when you start getting tunnel vision and there’s black closing in, hm?” he teased, and wrestled a bit to hang his legs over the edge. He sneezed again, which only made the ancient structure groan and whine for the sudden movement, and for the first time since climbing up, his self preservation kicked in. “Alright, alright,” Dorian groused, “just make sure there’s nothing sharp down there. I’m hopping down.”

So he did, and when he landed he made a face for the arc of pain that spiked up from his heels toward his lower back. Perhaps not the best thing, jumping down from halfway up the wall, but it was easier than trying to crawl backward and getting down the way he got up there in the first place. When he recovered, he turned to face Cullen and lifted his arms in a flagrant ‘ta da!’ pose. At least he stuck the landing, anyway.

“Let’s try the other side,” he mused, and leaned up to press a kiss against one of Cullen’s scruffy cheeks before he pushed past to go to the other side of the grinders. The other wall had started to cave in a bit, and he was terribly interested in getting some shots of the grass poking up between the fallen stones and some of old machinery crushed underneath. “So tell me about this abandoned settlement,” he prompted, “other than it was abandoned. Are there any theories about it? The old stories about monsters coming up from old caves and the like?”

\----

That little display was just on this side of ridiculous, and Cullen felt his face go blank in shock as Dorian landed. It quickly configured itself into a laughing smirk, however, and Cullen shook his head again as he rolled his eyes in exasperation. _Maker, please let this be going somewhere. I need more than two weeks and stolen moments with this man._ More than he ever imagined, he needed it. He needed the way Dorian took him off guard. He needed the way he shook Cullen’s life at the foundations. He needed the way he drew easy smiles out of Cullen without even trying. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. He just… he needed change, to move on. It was time to live his life again, and he rather liked who he was now that Dorian was in it. He’d like to keep it that way.

“Well,” Cullen began after a moment as he followed Dorian over to the collapsed wall, “There’s a fair few, from angry forest spirits whisking them away to some sort of mass hysteria. The only clue left behind, if you believe the tales, was a single arrow that had been shot into a tree not too far off. In all likelihood, what happened was the winter was harder than they could have imagined and they were cut off from any support from the crown. Most people these days assume that the lot were taken in by a passing tribe of nomads.” This sort of thing was right up Cullen’s alley, and he may have gotten a little lost in the telling himself. “The truth may be less interesting than the fantasy, but can you imagine? Being stranded. Lost. Abandoned. And then… salvation from the most unlikely source?”

Warm honey eyes met grey ones as Cullen smiled softly. _An unlikely source, indeed._

\----

“Sounds like the making of a horror movie,” he commented over his shoulder, and grinned. He could have listened to Cullen spin that tale all day, if he were honest with himself. The way Cullen’s rough voice pitched slightly lower and put the mystery in all the right places was so... different to anything he’d seen of the other man. Cullen had so many facets: the yelling deck boss, the hobbyist with his car and knitting, the mystery story teller, and the sometimes shy and sexy man with liquid amber in his eyes. Every part of him did _something_ , to Dorian, and he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder at Cullen while he spoke.

The man gave him goosebumps in all the right ways.

He went back to his snapping, then, though he did pull away for a moment, “You could write it, you know,” Dorian mused, “and I could film it. Imagine how good of a team we’d make.”

\----

“Oh, no.” Cullen answered, waving a hand in front of himself. “I doubt anyone would want to read… or watch… anything I wrote. I just like history. And mysteries. This place has both.”

Still, the idea, as silly as it sounded at first blush, had merit. Or at least, it was interesting to ponder. As Dorian moved around more, snapping his camera in rapid-fire succession, Cullen gave himself a moment to imagine a life _not_ spent toiling on the sea. What could he do? And who would be there with him? It was an odd sort of feeling, and the first time he'd really considered it, thought about whether there was more beyond the yearly cycle of grinding and loneliness.

“I'm not sure I'm fit for more than what I'm doing,” he went on, tone more contemplative than it had been before, “It's just… it's what I've done for almost a decade now, the fishing. And it's hard, but it's…”

What? Satisfying? Worth it? Once - and not very long ago - he would have said yes to both of those in a heartbeat, but now he hesitated. He'd never hesitated before. Never felt his heart pulling away from it, towards something _else_. He'd always done it. It'd always been… something he loved, right?

But at the moment, it felt like a penance. A tour of duty he'd assigned himself.

“It pays the bills,” he finally finished, and there was a little sadness in his voice that surprised even himself. A shake of his head cleared that away, and he brightened. “But our theoretical movie would, at the very least, rake in the cinematography awards, I'm sure.”

\----

There was a change in Cullen that was nearly palpable in the stuffy air of the mill. It was enough to make Dorian look away from the camera and sit back on his heels as he listened to the other man speak, and a little smile that might have been slightly sad touched his lips. There was something in that which spoke to him, on a level like no other person really had. It was different to what _he’d_ experienced, but it was altogether very much like the feeling Dorian had been struggling with these last few months. He and Cullen were far more alike than he would have picked at first glance, and the more they had these little moments where the talk was more real and less like quippy banter back and forth so they could learn about each other he couldn’t help but want _more_.

He wanted this to be something. He wanted it to be more than just a few weeks and some time on a boat. He wanted _Cullen._

So he got to his feet and went over to the other man. In the low light inside the mill, complete with dust and the Maker only knew what other flotsam and jetsam in the air, Cullen looked almost ethereal. He was so big and broad, but also seemed so small and shrank into his own head that Dorian coul had almost felt larger than him in that moment. That contemplative look seemed to be mixed with unease, maybe at the prospect that there were things outside of working on the boat, and Dorian wanted to ease him. If only a little.

There was the thought to cup Cullen’s face, but the state of his hands probably weren’t the best for that in the moment, so instead he leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Cullen’s lips, “Sometimes there’s nothing wrong with shaking things up a little,” he pointed out, “look at me, after all. I was going to be an arthouse filmmaker and now I do work on a _reality_ show. In _Ferelden_.” Now he was smiling, and obviously teasing, and he tipped his head to the side as he regarded Cullen more seriously.

“You don’t _have_ to work on the boat just because it’s what you’ve been doing, you know,” he went on, “I believe anything you decided to do would be good, too. So long as it made you happy, anyway. There’s doing things because you _have_ to, but I’m a firm believer in doing what makes you happy more than anything. Life’s too fucking short, after all.”

And there, in that moment, Dorian felt closer to Cullen than he had this entire time. He also felt closer to him than he’d felt with _anyone_. He wanted Cullen to be happy. He wanted to see him live his life with a smile wherever he could.

\----

And there it was. In the middle of the Brecilian Forest, surrounded by the trappings of time - history made tangible - Dorian had gotten to the heart of it in a few words. _Do what makes you happy. Life's too fucking short._ If anyone knew the truth of that last phrase, it was Cullen Rutherford. Life _was_ too short. The dog tags he wore around his neck like they were a part of him reminded him each and every day of that fact. _Their_ lives had been too short.

And he'd all but ended his own, figuratively anyway, when theirs had been cut off.

The other part, though - _do what makes you happy -_ that was harder. Dorian's words touched him. They reached a place Cullen had forgotten existed within himself, and it was like turning on a switch in a dark room, the way the light flooded in and illuminated all the nooks and crannies of his mind. It was where he'd stored away the hopes he'd had for himself, dreams for the future back when his dreams weren't all fire and blood. And now that door was open and the lights were on. He had only to walk in and clear away the cobwebs and see what was left.

Dorian had done that. Or he'd helped Cullen see that there was always the _potential_ of more. Dorian himself was proof. Whatever the man's troubles, his eyes were always looking forward. This… this wasn't a destination for him. This was a stopping point. A way station on his way to something better. Something that made _him_ happy.

In comparison, Cullen was standing still. Scared where Dorian was brave. There was that strength Cullen had seen in him, made real now. He never needed to have his mettle tested on the _sea_ ; that was just some bullshit measure Cullen had made up for the man. Just the fact that he was still pushing ahead, despite everything, proved his worth.

All at once, a wave of mixed emotions hit Cullen as that realization struck. Pride that Dorian was making his way with his head held high. Guilt that Cullen had ever thought the man needed to be tested in the first place. Hope that maybe it wasn't too late for Cullen to do the same.

In the span of a few moments, something fundamental shifted in Cullen's mind, and it was like he was looking at things with new eyes. Warm honey eyes closed as he followed Dorian back for another kiss with gentle, smiling lips. He wrapped his arms around the man, dirt be damned, just to hold him close for a while, just so the physical could briefly match the closeness he felt in his heart. “Wise words,” he finally breathed into Dorian's neck where he'd nestled his head, “I'd do well to heed them. I'd do well to follow your example.”

\----

“You’re a smart man,” Dorian chuckled against Cullen ear and nosed a bit into those blond waves for a moment. The mill smelled like wood and dust and old metal, but Cullen somehow still smelled like the sea. He expected the other man always would, and that was thrilling in its own way. One arm curled around Cullen’s waist, and he pressed soft kisses against the other man’s temple as he just held Cullen there for a while. “I’ve always said everyone should listen to me,” he went on with a smile, and hugged Cullen that little bit closer, “you can be my testimonial, how’s that?”

They stood like that for a while, with Dorian lost in just how nice it was to have Cullen pressed up against his neck with warm puffs of air bursting across his throat. They were both quiet, and while they stood there dorian couldn’t help but look around. Even the mill was still around them, like it was giving them a moment of privacy between them. Until…

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

It was a soft kind of sound. Rhythmic. Like footsteps. Across the top loft where the stairs had crumbled years ago.

_Thud. Thud. Thud. Scrape. Thud. Thud. Thud. Scrape. Thud. Thud. Thud._

That was the sound of someone, or some _thing_ , walking upstairs. Like they were pacing.

“Cullen?” Dorian breathed into the other man’s ear, “do you hear that?”

\----

“Hmm?” Cullen murmured before pulling away, head cocked to the side as he listened. And there it was, thudding like footsteps from somewhere above them. The sound was peppered with an odd scraping here and there, and the content look on Cullen’s face shifted into something more like confusion. “Yeah,” Cullen whispered back, and was suddenly aware of every ghost story he’d been told by the locals concerning these woods. It was ridiculous. They were grown men and ghosts weren’t real. At least, Cullen had never believed in them, but he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t… spooked. A little. “I, ah… I don’t know what that is. I could go look, maybe?”

\----

“Don’t you dare,” Dorian breathed as he turned a bit to look _behind_ him at the loft.

_Thud. Thud. Thud. Scrape. Scraaape. CRASH!_

Dorian grabbed one of Cullen’s hands and bolted for the door. Whatever that was, he wasn’t about to stick around and find out. He pulled Cullen hard behind him, and all but stumbled as his feet hit the grass outside and he scrambled away from the still open door. Ghost, animal, whatever it was, Dorian had no intention of staying in there to figure out just what exactly had been _in_ there _with_ them. No way.

He turned back and into Cullen’s chest, breath coming in hard pants, and he blinked a few times behind dirty glasses, “Should we shut... whatever it is in there?” he panted, “not that I’m keen to walk back over there.”

\----

“It’s probably just some animal, mad at us for waking it,” Cullen laughed, breathing now that they were out of the mill and in the bright afternoon sun. In fact, he was sure it’d been an animal or a tree branch moving against the rickety roof in the wind. _Now_ he was, anyway. Still, the way Dorian had curled into him once that mad dash had ended was incredibly endearing and brought a grin to Cullen’s lips. He took a moment to squeeze the panting man in his arms before pulling back and ruffling his soft, black hair to rid it of the dust and debris from the mill. “... or rather, mad at _you_ for crawling around in its bedroom. Let’s leave it alone.” His thumb swiped over that stripe of dirt on Dorian’s forehead before his hands dropped to pat at the worst of the dusty patches on his coat. “Look at you,” he said after a moment, smiling. “You’re a mess… it’s kind of cute.”

\----

Maker help him. Dorian couldn’t help but laugh, but for just a moment he couldn’t quite look up into Cullen’s eyes. It was probably something stupid to have gotten so scared about, and while it probably was some bird or animal... he couldn’t quite get over the feeling of dread that had washed over him in that moment. He was a bit embarrassed, genuinely, but he wasn’t going to really complain about Cullen fussing over him for a minute.

“I’m never _cute_ , you know,” he argued, but leaned up for a kiss anyway, “you’re the cute one with your curls and trying to be brave and fight the big, bad, ghost. Or bat. Whatever it was.”

\----

“Mmmmm…. I'd argue that you're being cute right now,” Cullen laughed in reply and ruffled that dark hair one more time before moving over to pick up the cooler and blanket where he'd left them earlier. “Alright, then… one more stop, and we can eat. It's just a little further up.”

Back on the trail again, they moved single file. The going was a bit tougher - it was a stretch of the imagination to call this a trail. As far as Cullen knew, his were the only steps this particular path had seen in who knew how long. As he went along, he kicked fallen branches out of the way and bent back those that reached out too far into their way. It made the journey a bit slower, but a little easier for the man behind him. That was alright.

Cullen had just broken out in a sweat by the time they finally made it up to their destination. The timing was good - they were working into late afternoon, so the sun wasn't too bright in the clear sky and they had plenty of time to eat and make it back to the truck before it got too dark. Cullen snorted as he thought that maybe Dorian wouldn't want to walk back by that mill in the dark.

But they'd made it. They were there. _His_ spot. The bridge and the mill were good - great even - but this was where he went when his heart was heavy and his mind wouldn't still.

“Well, here we are,” he said between breaths. “Maybe not as… interesting as a covered bridge or _haunted_ mill,” Cullen went on with a wink, “... but it's mine.” With that, he gestured out to the clearing. It sat atop a cliff that overlooked the ocean beyond, Gwaren just a small, gloomy speck on an otherwise open and free vista. He moved to the center of the clearing, beckoning Dorian to join him, where the huge tree Cullen had taken to calling the Grand Oak stood, alone but strong. “This… this is where I come to sit and think and try to… try to find peace.”

He was nervous. Maker, he couldn't believe how his nerves were rattling as he showed Dorian this piece of himself that he'd never shared with anyone else. Not Mia. Not his niece and nephew when they were out exploring. No one.

Except Dorian.

\----

And this was exactly why Dorian didn’t hike. This wasn’t that taxing, not really, but by the end of that walk Dorian was sweating under his coat and panting. The last little bit had been more trying than he’d expected, so he almost missed Cullen’s introduction to this special place, but he sucked in a breath and straightened as he stepped up beside the other man.

It was... Maker, it _was_ beautiful. It was large and open and _gorgeous,_ and suddenly Dorian forgot all about the fire in his chest and the drops of sweat beading down his back. To see Cullen looking out at this place and then back at him, and to hear that little introduction…

_To find peace…_

No one had ever shared anything like this with him before, and Dorian exhaled softly as he leaned a bit against Cullen’s side with his head on his shoulder. The view was breathtaking, inasmuch as his breath was already taken, and he sighed as he looked out at the scenery.

“So you don’t come out here with people much, do you?” he asked in a soft voice, “judging from that.”

\----

Those nerves from before melted away, and his free arm wrapped around Dorian's shoulders and squeezed as Cullen let his cheek rest against those dark waves of hair. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes for a moment and smiled, small and secret. “No,” he returned in a voice as soft as Dorian's had been. “No one else. Only you.”

And why was that? Why was it that Dorian got to him where no one else had? Cullen didn't have an answer to that, other than he just _did_. In the short time he'd known Dorian, the man had found his own path, just as ill-used and overgrown as the one they'd just travelled… but a path nonetheless right to his heart. Cullen chuckled for how cliché that sentiment was, but it was no less true. There was something there. Something that could be substantial, if only he could let it take its course. If Dorian was willing.

But that was a thought for another time. Right now? This moment was perfect. Cullen moved away long enough to set the cooler with their food down, then turned to Dorian, cupping his face gently between two large, weatherworn hands. Golden eyes caught grey in a warm gaze as that little smile still tugged at the corners of his mouth. “And I'm happy you came here. With me. Happy you landed on my boat. I'm just… happy.”

\----

Maker help him. Just... help him. Give him strength. Give him the strength to do all this the right way.

Dorian lifted one hand so that it covered one of the ones Cullen had against his cheek. He traced his fingertips over Cullen’s knuckles, if only so he could memorize exactly how they felt and every bump and callus that the other man had, and turned to press a kiss against Cullen’s palm. It was probably bordering on far too sappy, but he didn’t much care. Where they were now, and what it meant to Cullen, stripped away a lot of the worry that he was putting it on too strongly.

“You may need to stop that kind of talk,” he murmured, “or I’ll... I’ll…”

_Maker, I could fall in love with you_.

“Well, I’ll get entirely too syrupy,” Dorian finished as he smiled up into that handsome face, “but I’m happy too. Here. With you. Happy that things worked out this way.”

Then he took a step forward so his face moved out from Cullen’s hold and Dorian kissed him. It wasn’t the same kind of kiss they’d been sharing either. It was heated and full of promise, though without that note of desperation that they’d shared on the boat. This was exploratory, a kiss so that he might learn what it felt like to kiss Cullen in a way that wasn’t just a peck on the lips here and there. It was the kind of kiss that said he wanted _more_ because he did, and he was willing to pour himself into it so Cullen would feel it too.

\----

And then Dorian's lips were pressing against his own, and Cullen's world reduced and focused to just this moment. It was gentle, yes, but different. This kiss wasn't the same as those quick brushes that had come before, the ones that hinted at some unspoken fear that if they just let go, they'd fall too far too fast. This was slow and unhurried and without fear. _How can you fear the falling_ , Cullen thought absently, _when you already have?_

So he pressed back, meeting Dorian's parted lips with his own, relishing in the time they had - the time they _would have_ \- and just forgot everything else. His past, the boat, whether or not his chosen trade made him happy, all of it was gone. There was only Dorian and Cullen and this kiss. It burned lower, perhaps, than the frantic kisses on the boat when they were breaths away from being caught, but it burned hotter. Hotter and stronger like it could last.

Like maybe _they_ could last.

Cullen kissed Dorian like that, full of emotion and the need for more, until his lungs screamed for air and his lips were red to match the way his face flushed. Pulling away, finally, Cullen panted for breath as he raised a hand to draw a gentle line up Dorian's jaw before letting it rest on the smooth skin of the other man's neck. He tilted his head down and pressed their foreheads together as he sighed, “Maker's breath,” in a tone that was almost reverent for the feeling behind it.

\----

“That’s the right of it,” he agreed in the same low tone. Both arms lifted to circle Cullen’s neck, and Dorian leaned up on his toes so he could kiss the man again. It was slightly shorter than the last one, but no less passionate. Maker, he _wanted_ Cullen. He wanted everything about him, every breath and smile and little look that came complete with the crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he was joking. Everything. Every last thing. He wanted the man whose mind couldn’t be quiet sometimes and wanted to make the trip up to this place with him when he needed it.

One hand tangled in those blond waves and he sighed against Cullen’s mouth. He tasted like everything Dorian loved: masculine and healthy. It was perfection. All of this was, and he’d never known it before. Nothing else mattered beyond them in this moment.

He twisted his fingers into Cullen’s hair, took in how soft those big curls were against his skin, and closed his eyes, “I don’t want to leave this,” Dorian murmured, “and Maker help me if i wake up and all this was a dream.”

\----

Oh, wouldn't that be a cruel trick of his mind. Worse than the nightmares that usually plagued him, and Cullen took a stuttering sort of breath for that thought. But no, Dorian was warm and real and _there_ , filling all of Cullen's senses and making something in his chest… expand. That was the only word for how it felt - like it was getting bigger somehow on the inside, an odd mix of pleasing and aching all rolled together that was _new_ and proved this was no dream. Unbelievable as it may be.

_This could be it. Or the beginning of it._

He'd never felt _it_ before. He thought he had once, but nothing that came before was quite like this. Nothing compared. But that wasn't a surprise. No one he'd ever met had been quite like Dorian Pavus, after all.

It was maybe too soon to tell if this really was _it_ , but Cullen made a decision standing there in his clearing, wrapped up with Dorian in the clear light of day. One by one, he pulled those battered walls down that surrounded a wounded heart and opened it up to chance. He decided to trust in Dorian, trust in himself… trust in this and what it could become. Fully. Completely. For the first time in a decade, he was stripped of those layers of defense and protection - heart laid bare and vulnerable and beating.

It was terrifying. It was wonderful.

“No,” Cullen murmured and pressed another soft kiss to warm lips, “It's real. This is no dream.”

Except it kind of was. One that, Maker willing, was coming true.

\----

He smoothed his hands along the back of Cullen’s jacket and rested his forehead against the other man’s for a long time. Mostly he was just taking in the feeling of Cullen pressed against him and how freeing it all felt. There was no judgement there, only affection and desire, and that made Dorian’s chest ache with possibility. This could be _something_. It was _something_. It was, already, and he wouldn’t have changed it.

“Good,” he answered after a while, then turned to bury his face in Cullen’s neck. He had something to clean his glasses with anyway, so them getting smudged was hardly a problem. Having to let go of the warm body he was wrapped around, however, was a huge problem. It wasn’t happening. Not for a while, or unless they had to.

The scent of salt and the sea that seemed to cling to Cullen all the time filled Dorian’s nose and he inhaled it so that he could just have _Cullen_ wrapped all around him and even as the air in his lungs for a moment. That felt right. All of this felt right. Then he chuckled and just rested his cheek against Cullen’s shoulder as he held himself close for as long as Cullen would let him.

\----

Maker help him, he didn’t want this moment to end. Dorian was pulling him in, even as the man curled in against him, and everything that Cullen was reached out in kind. His body, his mind, his heart - it was all enveloped by Dorian's strength and warmth. When was the last time he felt so content - so safe to just be who he was? When was the last time he felt so… at peace? Too many years. It had been too long, if ever, that his heart and mind had been so settled. So no, he didn't want to let that go. He'd have to, eventually; he knew that. Time moved forward, inexorably into the future, and the sun would be making its descent under the horizon all too soon.

He let that embrace linger, though, silently willing the sun to be still just a few moments, though it was silly. His arms wrapped more fully around the solid warmth of Dorian's body and his head turned to bury his face in silky hair. There was the smell of dust from the mill still there and the scent of Dorian's cologne and shampoo and whatever else he put in his hair, but under that was something Cullen couldn't describe. Something that was just Dorian - fresh and clean and hopeful, like a new day, and it called out to Cullen in a way he couldn't put into words, but somehow understood completely.

It was sheer force of will that finally pulled Cullen back so he could look into soft grey eyes and smile as he straightened the glasses on Dorian's face. “Come on, you,” he said gently, “Let's eat before we don't… and then see where we end up.”

\----

So they set out the blanket and the food and ate their lunch, which was turning into an early dinner, on the hill with one of the best views Dorian had seen in a long time. He took a few pictures, less than what he had been, and had even managed to snap one of Cullen looking out at the ocean and looking equal parts pensive and just... peaceful. Happy, or so Dorian hoped. Relaxed. Those lines at his eyes were gone, and his body language was completely at ease. It was beautiful. _He_ was beautiful, and Dorian had a feeling that one was going to be a picture he kept for himself so he could look at it whenever he wanted to.

Once they’d finished, as the sun was starting to set in earnest, they’d walked back to Cullen’s truck in that sort of languid happiness that only came from being well fed and after a good, long day. The hike back was marginally easier, though the longer they walked the more Dorian was aware that he was filthy and wanted a shower. Did it stop him from pulling Cullen into another one of those deep and heated kisses, though? Of course not. They’d kissed until they couldn’t breathe again, and Dorian had spent the ride back home with his hand resting on Cullen’s thigh.

Like that ride back from Gwaren, by the time they pulled into Cullen’s driveway Dorian was about ready to nod off. Riding with such good company that he could actually relax with seemed to do that. When they got home, though, Dorian stretched and happily got out to stretch his legs. He was happy to be back, good a time as it had been, but now that he knew he was close to a shower... he wanted one. Badly.

“I might go wash all this haunted dust off me,” he commented as he brushed at Cullen’s jacket. His pants were completely filthy too. “I don’t really want to be hanging around in all this,” Dorian went on, “bit gross.”

\----

_Care for some company?_ Cullen thought, and blushed for it a bit as he grinned down at Dorian, a little guilt around the edges. However promising those kisses were with their heat and unspoken hints at more, that would be too far by half. They'd struck up a pace that was… sweet in its slowness, and Cullen wasn't about to risk turning it sour.

Maybe one day. For now, he could wait. Wait, and try not to think about warm water running over the contours of Dorian's body.

“‘Gross’ isn't the word I'd use to describe you,” he replied, still smiling as he pressed a kiss to Dorian's forehead, “But I get it. Go on. I'll just, ah, be out here poking at the car. If you need me.”

\----

“Right,” he agreed as he lifted one hand to tangle in those soft curls to keep Cullen closer for a moment longer, “don’t work too hard, alright?”

Then he let Cullen go, and for a brief moment he considered turning around and blatantly asking Cullen to join him. Those kisses had been so good, after all, and what he wouldn’t have given to feel Cullen’s strong hands peeling him out of his clothes while those soft lips pressed against his. The thought alone sent a spike of heat rocketing toward his stomach and lower, and Dorian swallowed audibly before he went inside. It wouldn’t do to push like that, though. They’d had a good day, one that felt like they’d _gotten somewhere_ and the last thing they needed was for him to ruin it by being so fucking brash.

Should it happen on its own? That was one thing. But practically dragging Cullen with him because of a few kisses wasn’t fair to either of them. Not now.

So he headed immediately for the bathroom, stripped out of his dirty and dusty clothes, and got under the hot spray so that he could wash off maybe a century’s worth of grime. That helped. Being alone wasn’t the highest thing on his list of things he wanted, but it meant a shorter shower, and when he got done he felt _clean_ as opposed to it just being a means to an end. That was something. It also, somehow, managed to calm his thoughts. That probably had something to do with the hot water and how comforting just _being_ there was.

Well... comforting until he realized he’d been so focused on getting out of those dirty clothes that he’d neglected to grab any clean ones to change into. Wonderful. And then there was Cullen rather sad towels... or what he said passed for towels. Dorian was used to big, wide, and fluffy things that were like wrapping up in a sheet after getting clean. These? These were obviously bought in a bundle pack and not thought about again. Wrapped around his waist as the one he’d used was, it only made it to the middle of his thigh at the widest point. It was like the economy style ones at a gym... actually, those bundle packs were probably one and the same. But he needed clothes, and the only way to get them was to make the walk down the hallway to the other room where his suitcase was.

Cullen was outside, though. He could make it, and no one would be the wiser. So he took a breath and opened the door to start heading for the other room.

\----

It wasn't until after Cullen had retrieved the cooler from his truck to put it by the door and then popped the hood of his car that he had the thought that maybe Dorian had _wanted_ him to follow. He shook his head and rolled his eyes at himself as he chuckled softly. Maker help him, he wasn't one for subtle hints and hadn't wanted to presume… but what if, right? That left him standing out in his garage, eyes trained on the engine of his car, but that was hardly what he was seeing. He gave himself a few moments to indulge that what if before shaking his head and bending over the car to… what? What was it he wanted to do again? There was something next on his mental list of automotive to-dos, surely. Maybe the spark plugs? They were sitting on his workbench, still in their wrappers. He walked over, picked one up, and turned the package over to read the instructions, but the words all blurred and  jumbled together as his mind cast back to the day he'd just had - the very _good_ day - with the man currently in his shower.

Instead of the car, Cullen's thoughts ran backwards to the way Dorian's face focused while he was shooting and the way the afternoon sun caught his eyes and the sweet, unguarded face he wore while he was dozing on the way back. And those kisses. He bit his bottom lip just thinking about them as a wave of heat drove through him and his heart fluttered.

“Shit,” he laughed at himself. He wasn't getting anything done like this. Might as well call it a day, go in to change, and drop down on the couch with a cold drink and bad tv.

Or wherever the evening decided to take him, anyway.

With a sigh, he went into the house, crossed the living area, and started down the narrow hallway that led to his room in the back. But he wasn't alone.

He stopped dead when he saw Dorian coming towards him. It took a moment for his mind to catch up, and when it did, it was in disjointed fits and bursts.

Dorian. Dorian with wet hair hanging in his eyes in dark, messy waves. Dorian with skin fresh from a shower. Skin. All of it. Bronze and beautiful and barely covered with a towel. Right _there_. Right in front of Cullen. And more, the light in the hallway glinted off two spots on his chest. Shining metal. Gold. Gold hoops that hung from - _Maker -_ his nipples.

Cullen breathed out, heavy, and couldn't help the staring, couldn't help the desire painted on his face, couldn't help the way his mouth hung open.

Couldn't help the way he _wanted._ To touch, to feel, to taste. All of it. His brain was just a chorus of _want_ and _please._

“Oh,” he finally managed to squeak out, clenching his fists as he did, “Oh, I should…” _Go. I should go. Turn right around and let him get dressed._ But he found himself cemented to that spot, legs unwilling or unable to move in that moment.

\----

Well, this was certainly a comedy of errors, wasn’t it? If Dorian didn’t know any better, he’d think that maybe they were the stars of some summer romantic comedy. They weren’t however, since he was fairly certain that Cullen wouldn’t be looking at him like _that_ in some PG-13 whatever it was... something a bit more X rated, however? There was potential for that. Cullen’s open mouth with his full lips like that reminded Dorian of far too many _private_ viewing sessions alone with his laptop.

“What?” Dorian asked with a small smile, “go hide and pretend this didn’t happen?” Like that was going to work. They could try, but things had been delightfully free of awkwardness thus far and he wasn’t really ready to start having it now. Best to... well, approach things head on, as it were, since Cullen was standing there before him. “I... this wasn’t by design, I promise. I might have been a bit too excited to get all that dust off me. So…” his voice trailed off and he gestured to himself. Maker, the water hadn’t even dried off his back yet, and the look Cullen was giving him was making him want break out into a sweat.

He licked his lips, a slow and more deliberate movement than he maybe should have used. Like he’d thought before, though, if something like this happened on its own, who was he to fight fate? Dorian was well versed in the idea of things happening for a reason. He’d been on the boat for a reason, met Cullen for a reason, and was currently standing in front of him in a towel... probably for a reason. Or happenstance. Happenstance could be good too.

“I mean,” Dorian managed after another beat, “we _could_ pretend like it didn’t happen, or... you know,” he went on before he reached out a clean hand to tangle in Cullen’s shirt so he could pull him a bit closer, “not.”

\----

Instinct kicked in with that small amount of contact and those words, and that slack jawed stare focused itself into something a little more intense. Predatory, almost, and Cullen could think of nothing beyond tangling fingers in fistfuls of hair and pushing this overwhelmingly beautiful man against the wall right there in the hallway. He shuddered at the thought of his teeth and tongue working their way down Dorian's neck, grazing his collarbone, and tugging on one of those gold hoops just to see what Dorian would do. Would he squirm silently or call out or...

_Breathe. Slow down. Wait. Just… think._

So he did. He took a breath and closed his eyes to find himself again before speaking.

“You are… so beautiful,” he said, voice low and breathy, “and I've held back this whole time… didn't want to… didn't want to ruin anything. Didn't want to push, not like on the boat, but…” and here he broke because it was _so hard_ to stand there with Dorian like he was and _not_ immediately give in. Something like a whine came from Cullen's throat as he fought against what his body wanted to ask what his heart needed to know, “Can I? Will it be ok? After?”

\----

Leave it to Cullen to make a moment like this, one that could have very well ended with that towel ripped off and his bare arse against a wall, something... well, _more_. It wasn’t _just_ sex or wanting or anything. It was _permission_ to move forward in a way they hadn’t yet. It was asking the question of whether or not Dorian would be alright with that. Cullen was legitimately _asking_ him, all while his eyes were looking at him like he wanted to devour him on the spot.

Maker, it was one of the hottest things he’d ever experienced in his life.

“We’ll make sure it’s okay,” Dorian promised him softly, and smoothed that hand that was gathered up in Cullen’s shirt up to brush over that scruffy jaw, “this won’t ruin anything. I promise.”


	18. The Lodger [3 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things move ahead, and Dorian learns a little bit about the scars Cullen carries with him.

That was it. That was all Cullen needed to hear. That it was ok, and that there _would_ be an after. Cullen leaned in to press scarred lips against Dorian's in a kiss that started gently enough, almost sweet for the way Dorian's words and that one caress touched him. His hand rose to first cover the hand at his cheek, but as sweetness turned over into that more primal need he'd felt earlier, he found his hand gripping that wrist as he _actually_ pushed Dorian into the wall, holding that hand up above his head and pressing into him. There was the sound of low growling, and Cullen realized it was coming from his own chest as that heat pooled and spiked below his stomach and his kiss became more insistent. Demanding. _Hungry_.

Fire. His whole body was on fire, and he just… he _needed_ this in the same way he needed air or water. He needed to taste Dorian on his tongue and feel him moving under his hands and _around him_. He needed a release that only Dorian could give him.

“Bedroom,” he panted, “Up.” His hand released Dorian's wrist, and he gripped the man's thighs just under the curve of his bottom to lift him up. Now that Cullen had felt that heat, he didn't want to lose it, not even for as long as it took to walk down the short hallway.

\----

So it seemed like that bit of pushing Cullen had done on the boat was going to be a recurring thing. Though this time Dorian wasn’t on the backfoot and wasn’t worried that he’d been hit or something. Instead, it was warm lips on his, and sweet and sensitive Cullen _growling_ into his mouth. He’d never have picked that, but in that moment Dorian couldn’t help but think that it couldn’t have been more perfect. Knowing he made the other man do _that_ just by being there was a wonderful bit of power to wield, and he’d use it as often as he could.

Cullen was wearing too many layers, though. Dorian wanted to be able to feel that warm skin against his own, and it seemed incredibly unfair that he was wearing not much at all and Cullen still had a full set of clothes on. What he wanted was to just start pulling them off, but then there were hands running over his skin, and suddenly he didn’t seem to care anymore. He just wanted more of that. He wanted more of Cullen touching him and kissing him and completely wrapping himself around him in every possible way.

Then there were hands under his arse and trying to pick him up, and his thoughts surfaced from that haze those kisses had filled his mind with, and now that he had his hands free he trailed them over Cullen’s arms, “Your back,” he tried to reason, though didn’t quite move to stop how Cullen seemed keen to pick him up. The last thing they needed was to collapse in a heap on the floor, but there was something _incredibly_ sexy about the other man carrying him to bed.

How many people did that happen to in real life, actually? Probably not many.

But instead he wrapped his arms around Cullen’s neck and tried to at least support his own weight a bit as he hitched a leg around the bigger man’s waist. Dorian wasn’t keen to let go of Cullen in the least, and he sucked on Cullen’s lower lip as he got himself settled, then set to kissing the other man as deeply as he could again.

\----

It was a very good thing that the hallway was straight and free of clutter. Cullen hardly paid attention to where he was going - he just let his feet guide him as he focused on more important things. Things like arms around him, strong thighs clenched around his waist, warm lips, a heaving chest against his own. Those all demanded every ounce of his attention. He was able to manage reassurance at Dorian's worry over his back. “It's fine,” he said, voice thick and full of gravel. And it was. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew there might be ice on it later, but for now… for now, he hardly felt anything other than Dorian around him.

Cullen hesitated for just a second when he found himself at the foot of his bed. There was the urge to just fall down on the sheets and keep going, but maybe tossing Dorian on the bed was a little… rough? Undignified? Too fast and frantic to really enjoy this? Whatever the reason, he turned and sat, settling so Dorian straddled his lap over him, and brought his lips to that graceful curve between the man's neck and shoulder. Teeth raked over skin still warmed from the shower as one of Cullen's hands kneaded into the solid muscle of Dorian's back and his other hand snaked up to let his fingers tangle in damp waves of hair.

Perfect. Everything about this was perfect. He could get lost here in this man. He was already halfway there.

\----

They were moving, and then they weren’t. They were sitting at the edge of Cullen’s bed and Dorian locked his legs even more tightly around the other man’s waist. That was perfect. As was that scrape of teeth, and Dorian hissed his approval as one hand went to tangle firmly in those curls at the nape of Cullen’s neck. He tugged, he couldn’t help it, and tipped his head to the side to give Cullen more space.

He wanted more: more teeth, more of that growling, more of Cullen’s hands on him _everywhere_. Just more. More of whatever Cullen would give him, and he wasn’t above tugging the other man’s hair a bit to get what he wanted. “You can bite,” he breathed, “I won’t break.”

It was like his blood was on fire under his skin, and Dorian knew his face was probably more flushed than it had been in a long time. That haze was back, and he was falling headlong into it without a care about being logical. He wanted something rough and tumble, but also with that same sweetness they’d shared, and he had a feeling Cullen would deliver in spades. More... just more.

_More. More more more._

The hand not in Cullen’s hair started pushing at Cullen’s shirt to get it off of him. Too many layers. There was too much between them where there shouldn’t have been anything. “And Maker _help me_ , get out of these _clothes_.”

\----

Fingers in his hair, pulling. Pulling hard enough to be _felt_ and make his skin tingle, and Cullen felt a  tremor shake all the way through him for it. It hurt in the best way, and urged him on to give Dorian what he'd asked for. Teeth bit and lips caressed, alternating softness with just that edge of pain as Cullen let all his senses get their fill with little regard for the marks that may appear later.

And then Dorian's hand was at the hem of his shirt. Words. There were words. _Out of these clothes_. Without thinking, he reacted. It was instinct and shame that caused his hand to leave Dorian's hair and grab the one that was pawing at his shirt. “Stop,” he heard himself say, “Stop.” A kneejerk reaction, one he didn't _really_ mean, was all it took to make this thing grind to a halt. As he realized what he'd done, his cheeks burned and he couldn't quite lift his eyes to meet Dorian's. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice quiet and small now. “I don't…” he went on before shaking his head and clearing his throat, “I don't want to stop. It's just… there are… scars. You should… you should know.”

And then his eyes did raise, hesitantly, to look into Dorian's. Vulnerable, that's how Cullen felt. But he hoped that was ok. Maker, he _prayed_ it was ok. That somehow, Dorian would understand.

\----

It was so easy to get lost in those bites and soft lips to the point where Dorian didn’t even realize what happened until Cullen grabbed his hand and the word ‘stop’ was coming from Cullen’s lips. It made a bolt of fear go through him, that maybe Cullen was having second thoughts, and he blinked a few times to clear his vision as best he could before he looked up into that handsome face. Had he done something? Was this too much? Maker, Cullen had been the one _growling_ not a moment ago, then…

Scars. Cullen had scars. Cullen was worried about his scars. Whatever they were. Dorian had seen enough on the crab boat to know that injury was just a part of life, and he expected Cullen had a few things on his skin to serve as a reminder to pay more and better attention. It was bound to happen.

Dorian recovered after a moment, and just squeezed the hand that was wrapped around his own. He relaxed his body, let it go a bit more pliable from the way he’d been grabbing so hard at the other man. It was easier, sweeter, and he lifted their joined hands to press a kiss to Cullen’s knuckle. Whatever scars Cullen had, Dorian couldn’t imagine being scared away by them. They were a _part_ of him, after all. Anything that was a part of Cullen, Dorian had a feeling he would love just as much as he loved the rest of him.

So he kissed Cullen’s fingers again, and leaned in with a bit more softness to cup the other man’s cheeks, “It’s alright,” he told Cullen in what he hoped was a soothing tone, “just... if you get uncomfortable, tell me. It won’t hurt my feelings, okay?” he searched Cullen’s face again, and leaned in for a softer and sweeter kiss, “Maybe a bit slower, hm?”

\----

The way Dorian relaxed almost immediately, the way his tone smoothed out and softened like velvet, the way his touches turned gentle - all of that. Cullen could feel all of that _care_ moving through him, calming him and massaging that momentary spike of fear away. There was kindness, genuine kindness in this remarkable man, and that was a balm for ragged nerves and the security he needed to trust.

And he did, he realized as his eyes widened. He trusted Dorian. More than he had anyone else in years. He… he _wanted_ to share himself, scars and all.

So he returned that kiss, less wanton than those before but infinitely more sweet, and let its warmth give him the strength to start the terrifying process of sharing. “Thank you,” he said before taking a breath and pulling his shirt over his head, baring a piece of his hidden self and his body all in one movement. He knew full well what was there, saw it every day in the mirror. His chest and stomach were striped with silvery scars, most fine lines by now, but some were larger and shades of pink. The worst, though, and the one that still hurt to look at, was a large burned patch, twisted and red even now, that covered most of his right shoulder and spread down onto the right side of his chest. He had other scars on his body, each with their own story, but those… those all shared the same one. Those all came from Kirkwall.

Those, and the one on his lip, of course.

Another deep breath, and Cullen lifted his chin to look at Dorian again, face a mix of pain and hope as he spoke. “This is me,” he said. “Here I am.”

\----

In that moment Dorian became aware of two things: 1.) most of those wouldn’t have come from the boat, and 2.) Cullen might not have shown this to anyone. Or if he had, probably not in a long while. That was a little overwhelming, actually, to think that Cullen would trust him with that much. One hand smoothed lower from where it was still cupping Cullen’s cheek to press his fingertips at the edge of the worst one at the other man’s shoulder. That would have been painful, might even be painful still, and Dorian didn’t want to draw _too_ much attention to it. Not now. Maybe soon, but stopping things to talk about the whys and hows would probably only make Cullen more self conscious. That wasn’t at all what Dorian wanted.

“Here you are,” he repeated, and looked back up into those brown eyes before he leaned and kissed Cullen again as his fingers brushed down along Cullen’s shoulder then back up to his neck. Dorian kissed him for a long moment before he rested his forehead against the other man’s, “and I’m happy you’re here, and that I’m here too. Alright?”

\----

Relief washed over him like a flood, and muscles that had been tensed to the point of shaking released at those words. Cullen wasn’t a proud man, at least not where his looks were concerned… but those scars were tangible evidence of his past, a tale woven with with shrapnel and fire and regret. He was… sensitive to their presence, imagined he always would be, but Dorian hadn't pulled away. The one person who _mattered_ hadn't recoiled in horror, had in fact doubled down to run a gentle finger over that burn scar. Cullen couldn't feel that particular touch, those nerves were long since dead, but he still _felt_ it, somewhere inside at a level that was beyond just skin deep. He felt it, and it was a little like absolution.

“Alright,” he agreed, voice low and thick, and his arms found their way back around the man in his lap to pull him back closer, skin on skin, as his lips connected with Dorian's in a kiss that was slower, gentler, but not any less full of need than the others. “Alright,” he repeated through soft kisses, “You're…” _Remarkable. Wonderful. Kind. Just what I need. What my heart wants._ “... so special to me, you know that?”

That wasn't exactly right, but it would have to do until Cullen found a better way to put words to the way Dorian filled out those empty spaces and cracks in his heart.

\----

It took a bit of maneuvering, but Dorian shifted so his weight was on his knees and he was able to kneel up a bit in Cullen’s lap. He smiled, wiggled a bit until he was as close as he could possibly be, and shared those softer, but still so needy kisses. Dorian could have lost himself in the taste of Cullen’s lips for hours and not cared, so long as he never had to feel those arms let go of him or those lips move away from his. He wanted to be lost, far away in the warmth of Cullen’s body, and he wanted to just enjoy how he could feel the words rumbling from Cullen’s chest before he heard them. That was... incredible.

“I’m learning that,” he answered, and ducked his chin to press kisses along Cullen’s jaw and up to his ear, “I... need you too.” Dorian’s voice was more quiet than it had been and just as full of reverence as it has been when Cullen had shown him his body. He _needed_ Cullen, and not just for what they were feasibly about to do, but just because there was something inside him that _needed_ this big, strong, sensitive, and sweet person. Something in the two of them cried out for each other, and Dorian needed it. He needed it more than he’d ever needed anything in his life. “In several ways,” he breathed again, and nuzzled at Cullen’s temple so he could kiss that soft hair, “in... every way.”

\----

_Yes_ , he heard ringing out in his mind and felt the force of those walls he'd started to dismantle earlier just… blow away. Easy, like they were just cobwebs to be brushed away rather than brick and mortar and years of _No._ Like they'd been waiting for Dorian all this time. For Dorian to come along with his understanding and kindness and the underlying power he had to _keep moving_ , whether he saw it in himself or not. Those walls had been waiting for Dorian to come along and move Cullen - to shake that foundation so completely that they were reduced to rubble in _his_ presence.

Something Cullen had been so scared of all this time, and it happened in the blink of an eye and without a thought at all… other than _yes._

“You have me,” he murmured into Dorian's neck as his body went loose and boneless in surrender. “I'm yours.”

\----

The thought of that made a smirk break out across Dorian’s features, and he hugged himself that much closer so he could bury his face in that soft hair. A little laugh escaped him, one that was filled more with possibility than amusement. To hear Cullen say that, _“I’m yours.”_ made a shiver go down his spine. If only he knew what trouble that could get him into, after all.

From where his arms were looped around Cullen’s neck, Dorian trained warm fingers along the other man’s spine and up over the shoulder covered in... Maker, a lion tattoo. He’d seen the Templar sigil on his arm on the boat, but the fact that it went up into something so big and detailed and _gorgeous_ was a surprise. It seemed to cover about the same real estate as the burn on the other shoulder, and Dorian ducked his head to kiss at Cullen’s throat in the middle of those two additions to pale and freckled skin.

“You’re perfect,” Dorian whispered into scratchy stubble and warm skin as he kissed and nipped lower. His hands still moved over Cullen’s back and shoulders, and after a moment Dorian lifted his head to catch Cullen’s eye as one hand smoothed over that burn scar and down over his chest, “does it hurt if I touch them at all?” He had a few scars of his own, though nothing at all like this, and remembered that the skin could be sore and sensitive for a while. Dorian didn’t know how old these were, but he didn’t want to ruin anything by hurting Cullen on accident.

\----

In any other context, those words - _you're perfect_ \- would have gotten a laugh or dismissal from Cullen. In this moment, though - with Dorian's lips and hands on him, with Dorian's warmth around him - his chest felt like it would burst or melt at the same time, and Cullen smiled through his own kisses. _Perfect? Me?_ He'd have denied it only hours ago, but right now, Dorian was surely perfect for him. Perhaps he was that for Dorian as well. He dared to hope as he relished in the feeling of those hands across his back, kneading and moving in all the right ways.

But then Dorian moved away, just a little but enough, to ask his question. The scars. Do they hurt? The truth was that they did, though not in the way Dorian meant. They hurt every time Cullen saw them, every time he thought of them, every time he closed his eyes and dreamt. But physically? “No,” he answered with a little shake of his head as his own fingers ran in soft lines down Dorian's back. He couldn't seem to stop touching this man, couldn't get enough, so he didn't try. He leaned back in to tug gently at one earlobe with his teeth as he breathed, “They’re old… barely feel anything there now. You won't hurt me.”

\----

“Good to know,” Dorian had breathed, and tipped Cullen over onto his back. They had the entire rest of the afternoon, and night, for that kind of sweetness. They used it to the fullest extent too, both for gentle exploration and that roughness that it seemed like they both needed as a foil to it. Harsh but loving, rough yet gentle, hard but careful. By the time they finally came to rest on Cullen’s bed, late as it was, Dorian didn’t think he could move anymore. All he could do was curl up against Cullen’s chest.

It took a bit of convincing, but eventually they cleaned up, changed, and resettled in Cullen’s bed. Dorian had gone to grab some actual clothes from his room, and Cullen seemed comfortable enough in something not covered in dust from the mill or grease from the car. Everything was clean and soft now, and Dorian rolled over a bit from where he’d been checking something on his phone as Cullen got back under the covers. They were both covered in a few new additions, visible even in the dim light of the lamp beside Cullen’s bed, and Dorian smiled for the little bluish-purple splotch that peeked out from the top of Cullen’s shirt. Seeing that pale skin marked up with reminders of their time together could be addictive, Dorian had a feeling, especially since seeing it made him want to lean in close and make it bigger and darker.

Instead he looked down as his phone chirped, and Dorian sighed. Felix wasn’t terribly thrilled at his choices and had elected to tell him as much. In detail. And it wasn’t like he could tell him ‘I’m perfectly fine, actually, and I may also be in love with one of the men from the show. No, not a camera guy. One of the fishermen’ and Felix understand. Not... right away, anyway. Dorian just hated having to argue about it, and he tossed his phone onto the bedside table before he snuggled in at Cullen’s side again and rested his head on the other man’s shoulder, “You’re awful, you know,” he teased gently, “keeping secrets from me.”

\----

Cullen sighed contentedly as he settled back under the covers, fresh from a shower. He sunk into bed, body loose and jangly from his exertions. He'd feel them - and that little stunt he pulled carrying Dorian down the hall - in the morning, but that was something to deal with then. Right now, all he thought about was how different that was from anything that had come before. Sex had never been that… close, never that intense before, and, cheesy as it was to think, he couldn't help but wonder if that was what making love felt like as Dorian curled into his side.

Calling him awful. Saying he kept secrets. _Maker help me_ , he thought, though he grinned and gave Dorian a squeeze. “Awful am I?” he chuckled. “Didn't seem like you felt that way an hour ago… but tell me, what secrets have I been keeping?”

\----

“How comfortable this bed is,” Dorian grumped as he nuzzled his face into Cullen’s chest. He rolled a bit further so their legs tangled together, and he stretched out across the other man’s chest so that his back was up and exposed. It was nice to have the blankets on, but it was also nice to feel the cool air in the room on his skin. Everything was pleasantly sore, only this side of aching, and Dorian was blissfully worn out. It felt like he could sleep quietly for the first time in a while.

He pressed a kiss against Cullen’s chest, “your comfortable bed and the fact that you can do _that_ with your mouth. What else have you been keeping from me, hm?”

\----

“Mmmmmm, but that would be telling,” Cullen chuckled against soft, dark hair. “And _that_ would be no fun.” His eyes slid closed, though that smile remained on his face, and he let his fingers trail winding paths up and down Dorian’s back. He'd noticed _during_ \- of course he'd noticed - the intricately detailed and _large_ tattoos that covered most of the man's back, as well as how they curled to an end, drawing the eye with them to what Cullen had to admit was a fairly perfect rear. But while he’d been squeezing two handfuls of it had hardly seemed the time to comment. Still, the tattoo was beautiful, and Cullen had to wonder what it meant to the man.

“Besides,” he went on with a sleepy voice, “ _You're_ one to talk with your angel wings and… ah, unexpected jewelry.”

Maker help him, he’d gone for hours, doing things that had made Dorian squirm and shudder and moan… but he couldn't bring himself to say the words _nipple ring._

\-----

“You weren’t complaining about the ‘unexpected jewelry’ an hour ago either,” Dorian teased back, and playfully snapped his teeth at Cullen’s chest, “though I saw the look on your face before. Not something you’ve come across in your travels, oh Boss of the Deck?”

He couldn’t help but tease a bit, anyway. Cullen had seemed enamoured, which pleased Dorian to no end. Having that little unexpected something was always fun, and even more fun when the person he was with was keen to experiment. Cullen had been, and even thinking about it made his blood run a little hotter even now. Maker help him, but this man might be the death of him too.

So he lifted one hand to peel a little of Cullen’s sleeve back so he could inspect that tattoo going up his arm, “And a lion, too. That’s not what I’d have expected on you, you know.”

\----

“Boss of the…?” Cullen snorted, “Oh, you're a funny one tonight.” But Cullen loved it, the teasing and the easy back and forth. It was fun, but more importantly, it was comfortable. After what they’d just been doing, especially with some of the things they’d said _before_ … the potential for this part to be awkward - painfully awkward - was high. But here they were, joking and lying together like they’d known each other far longer than they had. It was… well, it just felt right. Right in a way Cullen hadn’t felt since… ever.

“And what would you have put on me, if not a lion?”

\----

Dorian thought on that for a moment, “Hm,” and traced his fingers along the ink that arced its way up his arm, “I’m not sure. I just... isn’t it the lioness that goes off and does the killing and they bring it back to the big, bad man lion? That doesn’t sound like you.” He smiled up into that handsome, yet a bit blurry without his glasses, face.

Maker take him, but he genuinely loved this. Curling up in bed after wasn’t Dorian’s idea of a good time, usually, but the way Cullen seemed to wrap him in close and touched him like there wasn’t anything more beautiful was...well, there wasn’t much better than that. It didn’t feel smothering, and being with the man himself was just so fucking comforting. Dorian had never felt so comfortable with a man before.

He buried his face in Cullen’s chest again and just breathed him in. After all that, it was like their scents had intermingled, and it was wonderful. Salt and spice and sea air and citrus, and Dorian was lost. It almost felt like their lives were intertwining a little. More than a little, especially after the conversations before.

“You asked me before if I wanted this to be the beginning of a relationship,” he mused, “and I do. I really, really do.”

\----

The gears in his head had been spinning up, working to find a way to explain the reason for his tattoo, because of course there was one, without ending such a perfect day on a sad note. He was busy lining up an answer even as Dorian teased him, while he settled back down on Cullen's chest, while Cullen's hand moved to stroke dark hair without a thought. His mind was working on how he should tell Dorian about his past, about the time he'd served and the manner in which he'd left the Order.

Because he would. He would tell Dorian. More… he wanted to, now. If only so Dorian could understand him better. If only so they could be closer… and maybe then Dorian would trust him enough to open up about his past, his family.

So it took a moment to register that shift. Another moment for the gears to first stop and then switch directions into something new. A relationship. An honest to Maker relationship. An absolute. A label. Something that plucked them from their disparate lives and joined them for more than a season, more than a few weeks of happiness. Something that could be more of… everything. More happiness. More _work_. More of a future, though, and a future with someone who’d somehow managed to coax smiles and laughter and _life_ and _light_ where there hadn't been any before. Someone who’d brought color to Cullen's gray little existence and made it seem… meaningful.

Cullen cocked his head to the side and tucked his chin into his chest to try and catch Dorian's eye, a pleased smile warming his face as that thought - the future - warmed his heart. That he could even have one… and with the man in his arms… it was...

“It's more than I deserve. And it'll be hard - especially back on the boat,” he replied thoughtfully. “But, Maker, it's what I _want._ With you. You’re what I want.”

\----

Dorian sat up, swung a leg across Cullen’s, and resettled himself so he was straddling the other man’s hips and sitting up so they could talk without craning their necks,“I won’t lie and say that I’ve had the best experiences in the past to go off of,” he pointed out, “and that...well, things back in the Imperium go a certain way and usually relationships like this are something of a unicorn. I’m not one, don’t let the glitter that comes out on occasion fool you, but... I _like_ you.”

He trailed a hand along Cullen’s chest, studied how it moved across the soft cotton, and bit at hislip. There was so much, so many things that could make this backfire, and for the moment Dorian felt it fill him to bursting. Things that only some people knew different and separate parts of wanted to come out, and come out whole and true. Dorian wanted to believe Cullen could hear it all and would be accepting, wanted to believe that _he_ could be that unicorn for Dorian, and that maybe they had a chance at making something like this work.

All those things, including the things he felt for Cullen that made his stomach knot and his chest ache with happiness, were so important. They were part of him, and he wanted Cullen to know those parts of him... for good or ill.

“I…” he began, but cut himself off for just a moment as a spike of fear went through him. What if Cullen thought this was too much to deal with? What if that worry about not being ‘together’ or ‘adult’ enough came to fruition? What then? Dorian had to... trust him. Had to trust those kind eyes and that good heart, and hope he was as sincere as he came off.

“So the reason for all this, the show and the... not having any money,” Dorian began again, “my parents sort of wrote me off. Or, rather, I wrote _them_ off and they cut _me_ off. Difference of opinion in what I should be doing and, uh... who I should be interested in.”

\----

_Oh._ More pieces of the puzzle, and these fit with those that Cullen had put off to side earlier that day when he'd been so sad to think of Dorian, tiny and alone at his picnic of one. His honey eyes studied Dorian's face for a while, trying to parse the mix of emotion present there. It was difficult to do, and Cullen suspected that the issue was complicated. Complicated and _important._ There was a shade of pain there in those grey eyes, rimmed with what could have been fear and what looked to Cullen to be a bit of… resignation? Regret? He wasn't sure, but questions bubbled up - why and how and what for.

He struggled for what to say, how to react in a way that wouldn't be invasive. It was delicate, and Cullen wasn't a particularly delicate person. Still, the man looking down at him with those expectant eyes had come to mean the world to Cullen, quickly once all that battling and secrecy mess was removed from the equation, and he wanted to _know._ He needed to know what made Dorian _Dorian_. All the things that made him happy and all the things that made him sad. Trials and tribulations. All of that.

And now Dorian was opening that door, and wasn't part of Cullen oddly happy that he was being trusted with even this much?

So Cullen smiled, though his eyes were full of sympathy and concern, as he adjusted to put another pillow under his head so he wasn't flat on his back for this. That done, his hands settled at Dorian's hips, and he let his thumbs stroke slow circles there, just to let the man know he was _there_. He was _there_ and he'd listen and it was _safe._

“That's tough,” Cullen said softly. “Family is. But you can tell me. If you need to talk, I'm here.”

The questions could wait. Dorian's comfort was far more important than Cullen's curiosity.

\----

Those hands on his hips were comforting, and Dorian smiled a little for the gentle brush of skin on skin. Cullen was sweet. He would listen, Dorian knew that, and while he maybe worried that everything would be too much at least he knew Cullen would listen. He was a good enough man to do that much, which Dorian appreciated. There weren’t many out there that he could say would do as much, honestly.

“There’s not much to talk about anymore,” he answered after a moment, “they see this filmography thing as something to pass the time until I decide to follow one of them into politics, and they _really_ hoped the gay thing was a phase. Now it’s ‘you’re on your own until you’re done being stubborn,’ and... obviously I’m still on my own.” Dorian shrugged then, and reached down to capture one of Cullen’s hands so he could fidget with it as he spoke. Warm fingers trailed over Cullen’s knuckles and along the small scars that were there too, and Dorian sighed. That was the...quick version. The easier version. The version that he could gauge a reaction with, anyway.

After a while he lifted his gaze to meet Cullen’s again, and a slightly shy smile touched his lips, “So there’s a real reason for all this,” he pointed out, “not... I did something stupid. I mean, not really. I could have done what they wanted, but I’m not going to compromise my morals for a trust fund. And, anyway, cup noodles aren’t _that_ bad.”

\----

So Cullen listened. He listened to every word as it came and, for once, didn't let his mind work to read between the lines and draw conclusions. It was Dorian's story to tell, however much of it he wanted to reveal, and it wouldn't be fair to him for Cullen to miss it while he was lost in his own head making assumptions. The way Dorian spoke, the way he held on to Cullen's hand, the way he drew in on himself in the telling all told Cullen that this was a moment of vulnerability for Dorian. The shy smile and even the little joke at the end, they let Cullen know that he just… he needed to be _there_. For Dorian.

Because opening up… it was _hard._ And trust was _harder_. More dangerous. More precious.

One hand raised to gently tuck a piece of that soft black hair back, fingers slowly circling behind Dorian's ear to finally cup his brave, beautiful face. And he was brave. So brave to set off on his own, into what were quite literally dangerous waters, just to make his way. Cullen couldn't have been prouder in that moment, and his heart felt a bit like it might explode out of his chest for how it swelled. 

“You said it,” he started with a soft smile. “Life's too short - do what makes you happy.” Cullen took a breath and let his thumb stroke over the dark mark just under Dorian's eye. “A lot of people say that, but it's always hollow. Just a phrase to… justify stupid behavior or lack of motivation. But when you said it, you made me _believe._ It takes courage to live that way, you know, real courage to not let it be a… a crutch or an excuse.” He paused then, mind searching for the right words to say what he felt without being condescending. “And… whatever happened there, with your family… even if it was something _stupid_ , as you said… you have to know that you _are_ _brave._ Doing what you have to so you can live the way that feels right to you. Not all of us can claim that. And I'm… I'm proud to know you. I'm proud _of_ you… if that's not… rude to say.”

\----

Well, if Cullen only knew what had happened to make his parents make that decision, Dorian had a feeling that bit of pride might be short lived. Still, hearing it was nice. There weren’t a lot of people, Felix included even though they loved each other like brothers, that would have said they were _proud_ of him doing what he was doing. Not many, at least in the circles Dorian had traveled in prior to leaving, could understand not compromising morals for a cushy lifestyle. Or, at least, one that was easy and didn’t require any effort.

“It’s not rude,” he chuckled, a warm sound as he lifted Cullen’s hand and kissed first at his knuckles then turned it over to press a soft kiss into the other man’s palm, “and it’s nice to hear. Usually when people find out about it they get really judgemental and tell me I should try to make amends just because it’s family. I... there’s not much that legitimately gets under my skin, but that does.”

Dorian pressed his cheek against Cullen’s other hand that was cupping his face and he smiled again. This was nice. Saying the words out loud was nice. It helped to ease the weight in his chest, and Dorian needed that. He needed something that would make him feel like he was a part of something instead of just... being there. So far, in this unlikely place in Ferelden, he’d found that. So he squeezed Cullen’s hand again and moved it to rest over his heart so Cullen could feel it, and he looked down at the man with affection in his eyes, “You’re handsome when you’re all relaxed like this, you know? Not that you’re not anyway, but... I like this.”

\----

That look in Dorian's eye, unguarded care evident in his gaze, and him holding Cullen's hand over his heart… it was enough to draw an almost visceral reaction, and Cullen clenched his free hand for the way his heart thumped against his ribcage as he sent up a silent plea. _Maker, for all the wrongs in my life, this feels like a right. I don't deserve it, but I have to ask for more. Please, just let this be it._

_It_ , of course, was the warmth spreading down to his toes just from the way Dorian looked at him. _It_ was the way this moment… no, this whole day… had been perfect and healing in a way Cullen hadn't known he'd needed. _It_ was the beginnings of trust and real affection. _It_ was the promise that those feelings would grow stronger. _It_ was the future. _It_ was finding a soul that filled in all his gaps and the prospect that maybe his would do the same for Dorian.

_It_ was the headlong rush of falling in love.

Or maybe he was already there, and his mind hadn't caught up with his heart yet.

“Handsome?” he chuckled back. “Well, I'm glad you think so.” A breath passed as Cullen returned that look, care bordering on adoration, without realizing. There was just too much emotion under the surface to even try to hide it. “And this bed is a judgment-free zone… _circle_ , if you will… it has to stay out,” he went on and winked at that. “Maker knows, my family hasn't always been happy with me. I… ah… lied about my age to enlist early. It wasn't what they wanted, even if I'd waited. But I didn't care. So… I get it. Maybe a little.”

\----

The look Cullen gave him was one of those that Dorian had always wanted to be on the receiving end of. That look spoke volumes. It spoke of long, warm nights and soft words. It spoke of affection and trust. Those things, Dorian had found, were hard to come across. He hadn't really realized, but that's maybe what he’d been looking for.

“And Maker help me if this becomes a ‘don't touch’ zone,” Dorian teased back, then grinned a bit, “which could be fun in certain ways…” He winked, then leaned over to kiss those lips, “but I can appreciate a judgement free zone.”

He leaned over Cullen for a long moment and just kissed him as the desire struck him. This was so good, good in the sense that Cullen was good and this felt right, and he just languished in the fact that Cullen was there and warm and they were so open. It felt so... perfect. This whole day had been perfect.

He did lift his head at that comment about enlisting early. Dorian had seen that Templar seal tattoo, as well as the other one on Cullen’s wrist. He hadn't asked, not after the incident on the boat, but he did want to know. He wanted to know everything he could about Cullen, and those things the other man told him were so important.

“I take it you always wanted to serve,” he commented, “if you did something like that?”

\----

“Mmmm,” Cullen agreed as he pulled Dorian down into another kiss, slow and searching. He couldn't even carry on a conversation anymore, it seemed, without interrupting things here and there with touches and kisses. Never had anything been so sweet in Cullen's life, so he didn't feel too bad making Dorian wait for his answer.

As the kiss ended, Cullen laid his head back into the pillow and slowly opened his eyes. He'd never gone into much detail with anyone outside his family about his time as a Templar. Even the good years - and there had been a fair few - were tinged with the bad, and it all mixed up in his mind in a sloppy mess of nerves and regret. It always left a bitter taste on his tongue, but right now, all he could taste was Dorian and all he felt was… at peace. Talking about it here… talking about it with Dorian… he found he wanted to. And that was… different.

“I think I was seven,” he started, smoothing his hands down Dorian's arms and finally entwining their fingers together. “Dad took me with him to get more gear in Redcliffe, and there was some sort of official thing going on… not sure what it was, but they were there. And they seemed so… _important_. Like they were actually making a difference.” He took a breath and looked up at Dorian with wistful eyes. “And I wanted to make a difference. I thought… I thought I was… better than the fishing. Better than the people who were happy to scratch out a living and ignore the world. Better than my family.” And then his eyes dropped, and a bit of that old bitterness seeped in. “The reality was far removed from my fantasy, however. And look where I ended up anyway.”

\----

“Hey,” Dorian prompted as he leaned in for another kiss, “you're a good man. And I'm sure that even if things weren't exactly like you thought... you still did important things. You _do_ important things, so don't forget that.”

He tipped his chin up and kissed Cullen’s forehead, “You're so important,” he murmured, “So so important.”

\----

If Dorian knew the half of it, perhaps he wouldn’t be kissing Cullen’s forehead so sweetly. Perhaps he wouldn’t be with him in that bed at all… and that was a frightening thought. Would all this just come to a screeching halt if the man happily covering him with kisses and murmuring words of comfort knew the magnitude of Cullen’s mistakes? There was the thought to just not tell him - that would be safer. Easier to keep in than let out.

But that would be dishonest at this point, when they’d shared so much and wanted so much more.

“Watch out,” he warned softly with a hint of teasing in his tone, “You keep saying that, and I’ll believe it. There’d be no living with me.” He laughed softly as he closed his eyes to enjoy that closeness, soaking it up as best he could. “... but I never did anything important. I followed orders. I trained others to follow orders. The closest thing to _important_ I ever did got me discharged and nearly labelled a traitor.”

\----

One eyebrow cocked for that, “Is that why you didn’t want me asking about it before?” Dorian asked as he squeezed Cullen’s hands again, “I assume it has something to do with the tattoo,” he went on, then looked down at Cullen’s hands, “both of them, if I had to guess?”

His thumb trailed over the inside of Cullen’s palm, and Dorian tipped his head to the side as he studied Cullen’s face. There was some definite bitterness there, and also some fear. Was he worried about talking about it? Dorian could understand that much. Apparently they both had some things worth hiding away, and that broke his heart a little. Cullen was so _good_ , and he couldn’t imagine something going so badly that it would hurt him that much.

“But we don’t have to talk about it right this second,” he offered, “I understand needing to, ah, work up to that kind of thing. Believe me.”

\----

That was… good. Good because the end of the story was sad. The end of the story had caused Cullen to run and lick his wounds and hide while he erected barriers around his heart and kept the world out. Right now was far too perfect to ruin with that kind of talk… but Cullen couldn’t deny that getting even that much out in the air felt like a release. Part of that load was off his shoulders, and nothing had caught on fire or been ruined for it. Imagine that.

“No, it’s ok. It actually… it’s easier to talk about than I thought it would be,” Cullen answered and squeezed Dorian’s hands as he smiled a little. “Could be because of the company, though. It’s hard to feel bad when there’s a veritable angel in bed with you… complete with wings.”

\----

That made Dorian grin, and he squeezed Cullen’s hands once before he let them go so he could stretch tall with his arms above his head. It made him rock his hips into Cullen’s, and he winked a bit before he settled back like he’d been sitting before, “Is that your not very subtle way of asking about that” he asked, and slowly worked Cullen’s shirt out from where it was partially trapped under his thighs so he could sneak his fingers under it to touch the other man’s belly. “Because it’s all very metaphorical,” Dorian went on, “shrouded in meaning and not at all because it looks good and makes my arse look fantastic.”

\----

It was also hard to feel bad, it turned out, when that _veritable angel_ was in his lap, stretching out above him and rocking _into_ him like that. Cullen rather enjoyed that little show of muscles flexing and stretching under all that burnished skin. There was the thought of pulling the man down with him, maybe not for another round, but to feel all of Dorian pressed against all of him. But then he'd miss out on this vantage point. _It's a real problem_ , Cullen thought and smirked a little for it.

Well, he wouldn't pull, not yet, anyway. The talking had a closeness all its own, and those fingers on his stomach, tugging here and there at the hair, were nice in and of themselves. Too bad it was limited to where Dorian could reach under his shirt.

Well, but it didn't have to be…

“Hold on,” Cullen prompted prompted before wiggling around to get his shirt up and over his head. It was an awkward movement at best, hardly sexy, but it got the job done. He settled back down, barechested and perhaps a little flushed. “There. Better. Now, what were you saying?” he asked, and there was a twinkle in his eye as he feigned recollection with furrowed brows. “Ah, right. Your tattoo making your ‘arse look fantastic.’” He went on, affecting a fairly horrible Tevinter accent when he quoted Dorian. “Well, that it does, and I am not subtle. _Is_ there a story behind it?”

\----

Oh, that accent. Dorian rolled his eyes dramatically and sighed before he nearly bent himself in half and pressed a kiss over Cullen’s sternum, “Maker save me from the _funny_ Fereldan man who makes my stomach do flips,” he murmured against warm, clean skin.

He didn’t sit back up just yet, and instead trailed his fingers along Cullen’s sides as he pressed soft, wet kisses over pale skin littered with scars. Dorian busied himself with finding one and pressing a kiss over it before moving to another, then nuzzling his face in against where soft blond hair grew here and there, “Have you ever heard the story of the man who built himself a pair of wings made from wax?” he asked, “feathers and wax? Because he wanted to touch the sun?” His lips were still moving, kissing over those silvery-white marks, and he looked up to meet Cullen’s gaze, “and then when he flew too high the wax melted and he fell back down to the ground?”

\----

“Well, Maker help me, it's hard to remember old fables when you're doing that. It's hardly fair,” Cullen complained, breath hitching with each of those kisses. “But I have heard that one. Are you saying you're that man, or are your wings more reliable?”

\----

Every time Cullen’s breath hitched Dorian’s heart fluttered just a little. He did that. He did that to Cullen. It was a nice feeling. “More of a reminder not to go so high I come crashing down,” he explained as he shifted upward to kisses at the scars on Cullen’s chest. His tongue lapped at one, a slightly larger one than the others, and Dorian kissed it again, “not that I take my own advice very often, but I suppose it makes for a good story.”

After a moment his mouth detoured and Dorian tweaked one of Cullen’s nipples with his teeth before he moved upward. He couldn’t help himself, after all. “It’s an interesting conversation topic, anyway,” Dorian went on as he kissed his way up Cullen’s chest, “and a good reminder that should I crash to maybe get up and try again. Or something else inspirational or whatever.”

\----

Cullen's body shuddered of its own volition under that onslaught of kisses, and he found it a challenge to focus on the words murmured between them, hot breath puffing against his skin with each syllable. It was a delicious sort of torture, trying to listen - trying to commit it to memory - while those lips ranged over him randomly as Dorian spoke.

_Not random_ , something in the back of his mind registered. _It's not random._ His scars. Dorian was kissing every single one of them. He could feel it now that he realized, that odd numb pressure of damaged nerves wherever those soft lips pressed. Maker, it was so sweet it _hurt_ \- sweet, even as he felt his body waking up and wanting. Sweet even as he knew he should tell him to stop, that those weren't scars gotten honorably, that they were shameful and Dorian shouldn't treat them with such care.

“D… Dorian,” he breathed, “Sto… stop. Those aren't… they're not _good_. And you are. So good. You don't have to…”

That was the best he could do, considering the state he was in. It was a complex mix of emotion, from shame to regret to desire, and Maker help him, that was the best he could do to communicate it.

\----

He lifted his head and pushed himself up on his arms so he could kiss Cullen to keep him from going on. Dorian knew what he was about, and had every intention of kissing each of those scars until Cullen relaxed under his touch. That bit before, when he’d pulled his shirt off the first time, there had been so much pain in his eyes and worry about what Dorian might have thought. They weren’t ugly, they weren’t _bad_ , they were... a part of him. The end.

“Yes I do,” he murmured against Cullen’s lips before he bent his head to nuzzle at the other man’s neck, “they came from a bad place, but _you’re_ not bad.” One of the hands holding him up lifted and he traced his fingers over that large burn scar on Cullen’s shoulder before he pressed the flat of his palm over it, “and they’re a part of you.”

Dorian’s head dipped again and he lifted that hand just long enough to press a long, soft kiss against the raised skin before he pressed his hand back over it, “And I think every part of you is wonderful. Even the bad parts... whatever they are.”

\----

_… you're not bad._

Could someone's heart break and be healed at the very same time? That's what Cullen felt as Dorian spoke those words - so kind, so accepting, so exactly what he needed. Or maybe it was less heartbreak and more the feeling of it being pulled apart and put back together in a way that made it stronger, reassembled into something new but familiar - a heart that could accept himself. Forgive himself. Move on.

And it was high time for that. Eight years was too long, far too long, to live without living. His eyes were open now, and he'd be damned if he'd close them again.

Dorian had done that. He'd been the catalyst to this shift. And it was painful - painful to really look at his life and choose change - but as he gazed into those grey eyes, heard those healing words, felt those gentle touches that were firm but full of care, he thought the momentary pain worth the potential for happiness. 

Life was, after all, too short.

He did pull Dorian into him then, against his chest, as his eyes pricked hot and his throat thickened. Arms wrapped around a frame that was strong and solid and soft and comforting all at once as Cullen nuzzled his face in against Dorian's neck, placing soft kisses wherever his lips touched skin. “I don't know about good or bad,” he breathed between kisses, “I am what I am.” He lifted his chin so his mouth was near Dorian's ear, “... and what I am is happy. Truly. Maybe for the first time ever. And that's your doing…. Maybe you _are_ a unicorn?”

\----

Being pulled down that like that rocked Dorian’s balance for just a moment, but he recovered and wound one arm around Cullen’s neck so he could be closer. It was like he could feel the heat coming off Cullen in waves, and Dorian just held him as close as he could. He kissed at those soft curls, raked his fingers through them, and smiled as Cullen kissed at him. What could be better than that? There wasn’t much, he was convinced, and nothing could be better than this moment.

Until Cullen spoke, and Dorian’s chest felt like it was full of fire. Not in a bad way, of course, but... like those words were burning away some of the cynicism and bitterness that lived in there. Dorian liked to think he was more... well rounded than to just let himself get completely jaded, but thirty-three years on the planet tended to try to change that. There was so much affection in Cullen’s soft voice, so much emotion in those words, and Dorian held him closer. All he wanted was for Cullen to know how _important_ he was. To Dorian.

“Just don’t expect me to actually put on the glitter and prance around,” he deadpanned into Cullen’s hair before he chuckled and hugged the man closer, “I’m glad you’re happy, though. Just... I want you to be happy, alright?”

\----

Cullen laughed, low and soft, for that particular mental image and fell quiet for a while as his hands moved in lazy lines up and down Dorian's back. Amber eyes slid closed as Cullen succumbed to the warmth that was all around him now, inside and out. Dorian had a way of doing that to him - from day one, the man had disarmed him, sent him reeling, made him drop his guard without realizing. The difference now was that Cullen wasn't fighting it any more… and wouldn't fight it again. Not when the results of giving in were so sweet.

_He wants me to be happy._

No one else had said that to him… or at least, they hadn't said it without also giving him their opinion on _how_ he should be happy. He had a feeling that Dorian truly meant it, without strings attached. Without stipulations. He just wanted Cullen to be happy in Cullen's own way. That was the impression Cullen got, and he didn't think he was too far off the mark. Because Dorian was…

“You're amazing, you know that?” Cullen sighed, eyes still closed and mouth smiling. “You put up with the way I was. You gave me a chance even after all that. Maker, you're _here_ and you want me to be happy. You're just… amazing.” Cullen turned his head and pressed a kiss to Dorian's temple. “... and that's what I want, too. Happiness for you.” Another laugh escaped his lips as he gave Dorian a squeeze. “Barring any prancing, of course.”

\----

Both arms wound easily around Cullen’s middle and Dorian pillowed his head on the tattooed shoulder, “I’ve got it now,” he murmured against Cullen’s chest and closed his eyes. This sweet warmth, teamed with being delightfully tired out from before, was getting to him. Maybe that’s what made him so open. Maybe that comforting heaviness that came from being in that judgement free _circle_ gave him the space to be perfectly at peace. That, and the feeling of Cullen’s chest rising and falling under him. That was nice too.

“We’re both rather amazing,” Dorian went on after a long moment, and chuckled to himself, “and I won’t hear a word against it, before you argue. Because you will. I have this _feeling_ I’ll have to tell you over and over again until you listen.”

So he lifted his head and scraped warm kisses along Cullen’s scratchy jaw, “You’re amazing,” he told him in low tones, “amazing, amazing, amazing,” Dorian kept on until his voice slowed and he tucked his head under Cullen’s jaw so they could both drift off in that warm place together.

\----

_You're damn right I'll argue it… but I hope you keep on believing I am…_

Only a moment passed after that thought crossed his mind, and Cullen opened his eyes. The room was dimly lit by the light of… morning. Maker, it was morning - and early morning if that light was any indicator. It was morning, and Cullen was _rested_. There'd been no battle to fall asleep, no dreams to wake him over and over again. Just blessed sleep. _Good_ sleep.

_The last time that happened…_

And then he felt the weight of an arm slung over his stomach and the sound of soft, steady breathing in his ear. A slow, sleepy sort of smile spread across his face as he carefully tilted his head to press a gentle kiss into that silky soft, but quite messy, head of hair resting on his shoulder. He'd fallen asleep to the word _amazing_ falling from Dorian's lips over and over again, but Cullen knew it was really the man sleeping next to him who truly was amazing. Dorian was special, and he deserved… _something._ Something that let him know how much Cullen cared, how important Dorian was to him. But really… what was there to do? Yesterday had been one of the best days Cullen could remember… if not the best day… and he was hard-pressed to top it.

The growling of a stomach… his stomach… interrupted that train of thought, and it gave Cullen a thought. _Breakfast in bed? Would that be too cliché?_ But it was _something_ , and Cullen really wanted to do something for Dorian.

So he slowly untangled himself from those arms, regretting his choice for a moment as he left the warmth of that bed to pad out to the kitchen as silently as his large frame allowed him to. He'd maybe surprise Dorian with breakfast and then… well, then, they'd see where the day took them.

\----

A while later Dorian woke, and simultaneously became aware of two things: one- he was in a bed that he didn’t immediately recognize, and two- it was fairly obvious by the subtle soreness in him that sex had happened. His eyes flew open and he started to sit up, but as he did the smell of salt and sea and greenery filled his nose. _Cullen’s._ Of course Cullen’s. He flopped back down, immediately tired from the momentary rush of adrenaline, and sighed.

Cullen, however, wasn’t in bed with him. That... was surprising. The man wasn’t an early riser by personal admission, so what had pulled him out of bed so early? Another beat of anxiety hit him: _ashamed? Is he upset about what we did?_ But that passed. No. No, that conversation the night before, and how they capped off the night in each other’s arms. Maybe he’d gotten up to go to the bathroom or something. That would make more sense. Maker, he really needed to stop with all this jumping to conclusions, but... it was hard.

Instead, he rolled back onto his stomach and flailed out an arm to bring the other pillow in close to him. It smelled like Cullen’s shampoo, and like _him_ , and Dorian curled it up against his chest and nose to inhale a bit. It was stupid, and he knew that, but part of him wanted that. He’d almost wished to wake up in bed beside the other man and be able to sneak early morning kisses from him. It was terribly romantic and probably a little immature, but he couldn’t help himself. So he closed his eyes and just _breathed_. Until Cullen came back, since Dorian _knew_ he _would_ , this would do.

Or he’d drag the man back to bed himself for a morning do-over.

\----

He hummed while he worked in the kitchen, moving quickly so as to finish before Dorian woke up. The thought occurred to Cullen as he was cracking eggs that maybe leaving the man to wake up alone wasn’t the best move, but he’d committed, and he was determined to make this nice.

Or as nice as he could with what he had in the fridge, anyway. Over the past few days, Cullen had learned that Dorian was a light eater in the morning, so as tempting as it was to just fall on the standard eggs and bacon fare Cullen was so fond of, he found himself separating yolks from whites in sufficient quantity to make a cheese omelet. Still, it wasn’t too long before he had their plates ready and coffee brewed, and those scarred lips lifted in an excited little smile. Ridiculous as it was to be so happy about making someone breakfast… he was.

Of course, he didn’t have any trays to make transport easy, so he made his way back down the hall with two plates balanced in one large hand and two coffee cups in the other - one with just a touch of milk and sugar, and the other with just a touch of coffee for all the milk and sugar in.

He paused at the bedroom door, just a moment, to take in the sight of Dorian curled up around one of his pillows. One of his pillows… in his bed. Maker, this was real. This was really real, and Cullen’s heart did a little flip for it. Maker, was there a better way to start a day than this?

Moving silently, he crossed the room to set the food down on the side table, pushing books and knitting needles out of of the way, and sat down on the edge of the bed to squeeze Dorian’s shoulder. “Hey, you,” he started gently and leaned down to press a kiss to Dorian’s temple, “Time to wake up, sleeping beauty.”

\----

He groaned, both for the scent of coffee and for the little quip in his ear, “I’m hardly beautiful before noon,” Dorian complained. One hand lifted to rest on Cullen’s arm, though, and he leaned back a bit so he could catch scarred lips with his own, “You brought me coffee.” Maker, it was so sweet. It also explained the absence, and suddenly felt felt guilty for thinking the worst immediately.

“No one’s brought me coffee in bed before.”

\----

“Coffee, yes,” Cullen said with a grin as he reached over for the cup and plate he’d made up for Dorian. “But wait… there’s more. It comes with a side of egg white omelet and toast with strawberry jam.” Despite the early hour, he was just a little giddy from… well, everything. The day they’d had, the way it ended, and even a bit of nerves for how this gesture would be accepted. He held the plate and cup up with a smile bordering on cheeky as he went on, “I thought you needed something to keep up your strength after last night.”

\----

Dorian blinked. For a moment it felt like his ears were full of cotton and it sounded like Cullen had just told him he’d made breakfast. Then there was a plate in front of him, and he squinted just a bit. Even without his glasses he could tell that it was, indeed, food, and that Cullen had brought it to him. In bed. Breakfast in bed.

“You... for me?” he asked a bit stupidly as he sat up a bit and took the plate with one hand. It smelled good, and his stomach grumbled in response. His mind, however, was having just a bit of trouble wrapping around it all. Dorian looked back up into that handsome face that seemed equal parts pleased and a worried. What could Cullen _possibly_ have to worry about when he’d just done the sweetest thing Dorian could have thought of?

His other hand reached out and he brushed it along the other man’s chest before he leaned a bit off to the side (plate mostly balanced in his other hand), and leaned his head against that strong form. “Maker,” he breathed before he turned to press a kiss against whatever skin his mouth could reach, “you... this is amazing.”

\----

“Oh, there you go again. It’s just eggs,” Cullen returned, but that nervously cheeky grin had grown broader across his face and his eyes were bright as his cheeks flushed with pleasure. He was, in fact, pretty damned pleased with himself in this moment. Well, and not a little relieved as well. There’d been the fear that maybe Dorian would have thought this sort of thing a little on the immature side, that maybe he’d laugh at Cullen’s sappy little attempts. But no, no, Dorian seemed to actually appreciate it, if those words and little kisses were anything to go by. And those, Cullen appreciated. He turned and caught Dorian’s lips in a soft, quick little kiss. “Scooch,” he prompted as he moved to get back into bed with Dorian… where he intended to stay for as long as he possibly could.

Maker, if all mornings were this good, maybe he _could_ be a morning person.


	19. Two Weeks [1 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen makes a confession to Dorian after a day spent in celebration.

And so a few days passed by just like that. Late nights followed by lazy mornings with the day stretching out before them. Cullen tinkered on his car while Dorian sat out in the garage with him, wrapped in a blanket and usually drinking coffee while reading. Sometimes, he read to Cullen, sometimes they joked back and forth, sometimes they focused on their separate tasks in silence. But it was always comfortable. Dorian had that effect on him - Cullen was relaxed in a way he hadn’t known in a long, long time. He wasn’t afraid to just be who he was around the other man, even if who he was off the boat was goofy or a little awkward or a lot sappy… he could be that man and Dorian didn’t mind. Maker help him, he seemed to _like_  how Cullen was here, if how they spent their evenings was anything to go by.

And Cullen _liked_ Dorian. His wit, his words, his kind eyes, and warm heart. It had maybe been a week since Dorian had come to stay, and already he’d shown Cullen so much, had taught Cullen so much about what it was to be strong and move on. It was like Dorian had some kind of key that started Cullen’s life right back up and had him wondering about the future, had him hoping for something more than the yearly cycle of floating numbly through months of nothing, only coming alive during the season.

Of course, Dorian had shown Cullen a thing or two in the bedroom, too. Things that made him blush and grin like an idiot when he remembered them, but it left him wanting more in that regard as well. That was… well, that was alright. No one had touched him like that before, in just about every sense of the phrase. No one even came close.

Cullen slept better with Dorian’s solid warmth pressed next to him at night - because of course he’d moved from the couch the night their relationship became real, there wasn’t even a conversation about it. It just was. So for the past several days, Cullen woke up feeling actually rested instead of battered. Or, well, maybe he felt a _little_ battered some mornings, but that was always in a decidedly good way.

And so, he found himself out of bed after morning kisses and soft smiles and Dorian proclaiming that he had _absolutely_ no intention of getting up so scandalously early. Cullen couldn’t just lie there, though, knowing he was so close to having his car running. Just a few more things needed tweaking and all the fluids added in and, Maker willing, the thing would be road worthy. So, he’d given Dorian one last kiss, pulled on some clothes, and made his way out to the garage after brewing up some coffee. And, it seemed, the Maker was willing… only an hour and a half later, give or take, and he was putting the key into the ignition with one shaking hand as he muttered a prayer under his breath. He turned the key… and his prayers were answered. The engine came to life, purring really. Smooth and without a hitch.

Giddy. Positively and utterly ecstatic, he turned the car off and all but skipped into the house, down the hallway and into bedroom where Dorian was just coming out of the bathroom door. In his excitement, Cullen wrapped his arms around the man and practically swung him around before planting a kiss firmly on those full lips through a broad smile.

\----

Maybe it was entirely stupid to be feeling so _domestic_ only days after admitting that they wanted something like a relationship. Maybe it was moving too fast and making too many assumptions, but Dorian had lived this long being worried about how his relationships _looked_. What mattered was that it felt good. It didn’t... well, he liked to think himself level-headed enough to know what was dangerous or possibly a road to something painful. Yes, this was very quick and between seasons of work, but it didn’t feel like something rushed. Oddly, this felt like it was moving at a rate that was comfortable.

So Dorian enjoyed their time. He liked sitting in that slightly collapsed camp chair with a blanket around his shoulders and a mug of coffee in his hands while he read or watched Cullen fiddle with the car. It was something he would have thought utterly boring until now, and where he might have rolled his eyes at the thought of keeping a man company that had his head in an engine for hours at a time a few months ago, now he rather liked that companionable time together. He’d read out loud sometimes when Cullen wasn’t doing something terribly fiddly that required his full concentration, or sometimes they’d talk, but mostly he liked that they could be quiet and he could look over and watch Cullen doing something that was important to him. That focus was mesmerizing, and it was even better when Cullen would catch him and they’d share a smile. Truly, it was a good time.

As he brushed his teeth, though, Dorian couldn’t help but smile. He could see the remnants of the night before on his skin: little purple bruises in the shape of teeth at his neck and scratches down his chest and sides. Cullen was... incredible. Eager. Careful. Rough yet caring. Every bite was always soothed with a kiss or a lap of his tongue, and after digging his nails into Dorian’s skin he’d press the flat of his hand over them to keep the itchy-burn from taking Dorian’s mind away from what they were doing. Seeing the evidence of their time together was nice, though. Normally, he would have covered it up, hidden it away, but for now he was happy to walk around so that both he and Cullen could enjoy them.

Plus, it seemed Cullen liked to see his handiwork. He would blush and stutter a little, obviously, but Dorian had noticed that sometimes he couldn’t look away.

His mind wasn’t really on anything but that as he moved to get dressed, and then there were arms around him and lips on his. That shook him from his thoughts, though it made them shift from those marks on his neck to Cullen’s lips on his. One hand lifted to tangle in Cullen’s hair, and Dorian sighed happily into that kiss. Any excuse to kiss Cullen, really. Dorian didn’t _need_ one, of course, but he liked having the option. He leaned up on his toes, let Cullen swing him around, and laughed with him.

“And what’s gotten into you?” he asked before he kissed Cullen again and raked his fingers through those curls, “surely it’s not just the fact that I’m minty fresh now.”

\----

“You’ll see,” Cullen laughed with a little twinkle in his eye, “Come on… put on a shirt and I’ll show you.” It took everything in him to not just grab Dorian’s hand and run him outside… but Cullen at least had the presence of mind _not_ to force the man out into the cold in his underwear. “Ah, and maybe some pants,” he added as he bounced on the balls of his feet in his excitement. “Please?”

\----

Well, that was ominous. Dorian blinked a few times before he let out a laugh and nodded, “I... sure, okay,” he answered as he moved to grab out a pair of  flannel pajama pants and a long sleeved shirt from where he’d brought his suitcase in a few days ago. It was still on the floor beside the bed, but... there. In the room. “Do I need to be dressed-dressed?” he asked as he pulled the shirt on, “or just around the house kind of dressed?”

\----

“Oh, just around the house is fine… for now.” Cullen was already coming up with plans for the day. The car itself still needed body work and a paintjob, so it wasn’t pretty, but it was running… and he was itching to take it for a spin. He wasn’t, however, insensitive enough to haul Dorian out before his morning coffee, so… later. There’d be an inaugural test drive later, and maybe it wouldn’t be alone. Maker, he’d been working on that car for so long. He’d always pictured this moment as a silent little victory, celebrated alone. Now, though, he was flushed with pleasure at the thought of sharing it with Dorian, at how quickly things could change, when change was allowed. “We’re just going outside for a bit, but it’s cold, you know.”

Cullen waited, a little impatiently if the truth was told, the few seconds for Dorian to pull on the flannel pajama bottoms he’d pulled out of his case. And then he _did_ grab the other man’s hand, chuckling at the curious expression on his face, and proceeded to lead him down the hall and out to the garage.

“Ok. Wait for it…” he instructed as he dropped Dorian’s hand in front of the car and went around to sit in the driver’s seat. As he did before, he took a breath, prayed that it would start again, and turned the key. Once again, the engine turned over, idling smoothly, and once again, Cullen was grinning ear to ear as he stood up and leaned against the open door to face Dorian. “It’s running! It’s really running! Do you hear that?”

\----

It wasn’t terribly cold out for how the sun was shining, but there was a chill on the breeze that blew through the covered garage. He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly wished he’d thought to pull on some socks, and watched Cullen get into the car and start it. It... certainly was a car, and certainly was a car that started, though. Which was a big jump from the hunk of metal that had been sitting there and _not_ doing that for at least the time he’d been there. Dorian knew Cullen had been working on it for a while, and even though he didn’t quite know the ins and outs of how everything worked, he was glad to see Cullen so happy.

“I do hear it,” he agreed with a nod and a laugh, “like a kitten, even. A giant metal kitten.” But he padded over and kissed Cullen from over the top of the door, “You did it, though! You... fixed the thing. All that banging and swearing, and now it _works._ ”

\----

That grin was still plastered on Cullen's face as Dorian kissed him, which, of course, only served to make it wider and warmer. Even if engines or rebuilding them wasn't Dorian's thing, he'd still sat out there with Cullen almost every day as he worked; he was stilll genuinely pleased for him. That happy smile and kiss was enough to make Cullen's chest flutter in a way that had nothing to do with whether and engine turned over, and suddenly, he wanted to do something special for Dorian. Something just to show how much he appreciated the man's presence - not just while he'd been working on the car, but for all of it: the time on the boat, as chaotic and mixed as it had been, the way Dorian had unknowingly helped him open up so much, the light he'd breathed into his life. All of it, basically, warranted something… nice.

“Well, I need to put her through her paces, but this is a good sign,” he replied, gesturing to the engine as he spoke. “So how about this… maybe wake up the rest of the way, have some coffee, get dressed… and we can go for a drive? Maybe find some lunch and a place to stop off for pictures along the way? But no hiking, I promise.”

The next town over was about a half hour away, in the opposite direction of the forest and Gwaren. It was a bit larger and more… bohemian in nature, so while Cullen wasn't exactly sure what he wanted to do just yet, there were options.

\----

That sounded perfectly reasonable, actually. Dorian smiled and leaned up to ruffle those curls, “Sure,” he answered. A day out sounded great. They’d been spending time at home, which had been wonderful, but a day to get out and stretch the legs wouldn’t be so bad either. He kissed Cullen again, nipped at his lower lip, then smiled, “coffee for you too, then?” he asked.

Not that the answer mattered. He’d make two mugs anyway, since he’d never seen Cullen turn down a cup of coffee before. So he went in and did just that, and fixed it for them both. As he poured the milk and sugar into Cullen’s he did laugh, as he always did, and he brought it out still steaming to the other man so he could lean back against the workbench, “So does this mean it’s done completely?” he asked, “all restored and everything?”

\----

When Dorian went back inside, Cullen turned the engine off (but not before he revved it a few times, of course), and set to cleaning his tools off. He didn’t have to wait long before Dorian was back, though, and he grinned into his cup of coffee. There was no doubt that it was right, even though Dorian liked to tease him for the amount of sugar and milk in, and that was an oddly warming thought.

“Well, not completely,” Cullen answered, “There’s still a good amount of body work and a paint job… and I’m not sure I haven’t convinced myself to redo the dials and gauges in the dash and…” he paused and chuckled as he realized he was about to launch into his whole list of to dos. “But I’m rambling. She’s not done. Yet. But this is big. Today’s little trip should be fun.” He took a sip of coffee and, yes, it was right. “There’s, ah, some crafty type shops in town, local stuff, you know. You might like it. Better than a hike through the woods in the winter, anyway.”

\----

Maker help him, but Cullen was entirely too sweet. Dorian moved and set down his mug so he could wind his arms around Cullen, and he rested his head between the other man’s shoulder blades. It was a nice fit this way, and he took in just how warm Cullen was all pressed up against him like he was. Dorian hitched his hands up under Cullen’s shirt too, and happily pressed his palms against that warm bulk. This was what he liked, really, and he kissed gently at the soft cotton under his lips.

While he listened to Cullen list off what was in the town, his mind clicked over to a nice little cafe, maybe a trip into some art shops or kitschy little places, and his heart warmed. Normally, he hated that kind of thing, but the idea of walking hand in hand with Cullen where they didn’t have to worry about being seen by people that knew him excited him beyond reason.

“I’m sure it’ll be a great trip,” Dorian mused, then kissed Cullen’s back again, “once I’m motivated to move I’ll go get dressed, but I’m happy right here for now.”

\----

Sweet Maker, but Cullen loved that they could share moments like this. He loved the feeling of Dorian pressed against his back; loved the feeling of his hands on his skin. Once he’d relaxed about the scars that covered his body, Cullen found that he loved it however Dorian touched him. So much so that the excitement over his car _finally_ running faded and was replaced by a softer, warmer feeling. He placed his mug on the hood of the car - it needed to be painted anyway - and placed his hands over Dorian's, closing his eyes and just enjoying the closeness of the moment.

“Well, I have to say I'm happy with where you ended up,” he murmured, a soft smile on his lips. “A little selfishly, maybe, since it was bad business that got you on the boat in the first place.”

\----

“Well, I meant more where I am at the current moment, but yes, that too,” he chuckled before he let his nails bite in just a bit at Cullen’s skin, and Dorian nipped at his shoulder a bit, “and I like this. Just being here like this with you. Though the pull of terrible souvenir shops is pretty big.”

Dorian grinned over Cullen’s shoulder then, and hugged him one more time before he let go to grab his coffee, “I shouldn’t be too long. Just casual, right?”

\----

“Hold on, wait,” Cullen said as he turned, concern in his voice. “There’s just this one thing…”

\----

One eyebrow cocked, and Dorian turned from where he was heading into the house, “One thing?” he asked, “everything okay?”

\----

A few steps had Cullen back in Dorian’s space, and he pulled the other man in, careful not to spill any coffee. A breath, and he pressed his scarred lips to Dorian’s in a slow kiss. He took his time, let it grow warm and deep, and then pulled away with self-satisfied grin on his lips and a flush to his cheeks. “Mmm, now it is,” he answered through that little smirk. “Weren’t you getting dressed?” he laughed and nudged Dorian. “Go on, then.”

\----

And that kiss was enough to make him forget about any plans save for falling into bed. It would have been a wonderful way to spend the rest of the morning, afternoon... whatever. But then Cullen was smiling and Dorian rolled his eyes, “Maker save me,” he playfully grumbled, “this is the man I’ve given my heart to. Grinning like that and thinks he’s funny.”

He did go inside and change, though, and not long later he reappeared in a pair of jeans and long sleeved shirt on. What he also had, however, was a thick and cozy flannel shirt of Cullen’s on over it. It was a dark green and black plaid, which amused him to no end, and it was _warm_. It would make walking around much more bearable.

“Ready now?” he asked, “or did you want another crack at improv hour?”

\----

For lack of anything better to do while he waited, Cullen worked on clearing out the area around the car as Dorian dressed, putting tools away and tossing dirty rags in a hamper by his work table. It helped keep him focused on getting ready to go out rather than following Dorian in to follow that kiss up with… more. Not that that wouldn’t have been a great use of the day, but it was time to get some fresh air.

And they still had the evening, anyway.

When Dorian came back out, Cullen chuckled at his teasing. “Oh, you liked it,” he said as he turned from where he was putting away the last of his tools. As his eyes settled on Dorian, he stopped short, head tilted to the side and lips curled up into a hint of a smile. “Someone’s been raiding my closet, I see.”

\----

“Your stuff is warmer than mine,” he replied easily, then hugged his arms around himself a little, “and... well, it smells like you. Which I also like.” Dorian smiled then, and moved over to the car, “So this thing should get us there in one piece and everything, hm?” Maker, but he did love to tease Cullen. He loved it. He loved the smile and the blush it earned him, and he wanted more of it all the time.

“We’ll be riding in style.”

\----

“One piece, yes. There? Maybe,” Cullen grinned and winked. “We’ll stick close for a little bit to make sure, and then head out. Hop in.”

Maker help him. This was fun - he was actually _having fun_. Would wonders never cease? It was a fairly perfect beginning to a day that had so much possibility, and not just because the car started. He hadn't missed the comment about Dorian’s heart and who it may have been given to, and now the man was wearing his shirt like it was the most normal thing in the world. Cullen's cheeks were pink and flushed, but not because of the teasing.

After they were in and buckled up, Cullen leaned over to brush a quick kiss against Dorian's cheek. “For luck, so we do make it there and back again,” he explained before starting the car up. “Let's get out of here before you lose your nerve.”

\----

“I trust you not to let this car you’ve rebuilt not go up in flames,” Dorian teased, “but there is water and all the fluids in all the various... er... right places, right?” Okay, so he never admitted to being good with cars. He’d asked Cullen a million questions about what he was doing since he got there, and Cullen had even let him hold stuff and help when it wasn’t terribly complicated. That was fun, actually, in a way Dorian hadn’t expected. This whole thing was just so much more _fun_ than he ever thought it would or should be.

None of his relationships in the past had been so _fun_. They were passionate and heavy and full of art and poetry and a lot of wine, but not like this at all.

He leaned back in the seat and looked around at the interior. Of course he’d sat in it, had poked around here and there for a key to the history, and had actually gotten up in with his camera. Maybe tonight he’d work on a few of those pictures and send them to Cullen as a gift or something. He’d like that. Dorian knew he would.

“This should be fun, though,” he mused out loud, “I’m excited.”

\----

A mischievous glint lit amber eyes and the scarred half of Cullen's mouth hitched upwards as one eyebrow cocked. “Good,” he said and backed down the driveway and onto the road that ran in front of his little house. He was good and stuck close to home for the first fifteen minutes, just feeling the car out and making sure that, yes, it would get them there in one piece. When impatience won out over caution, though, he made his way to a lonely stretch of road on the way towards town. They had the whole thing to themselves, so he came to a stop, right there on the highway, checked his surroundings one more time as his heart beat in his chest, and looked over at Dorian with that same mischievous look in his eyes.

“Hold on to something. I'm gonna open her up.”

No, Cullen didn't care for flashy little sportscars that were mostly plastic and show… but he did like the speed, the power of a V8 roaring to life at his command. His left foot came off the clutch as his right hit the gas, and they were off, shifting smoothly through to top gear. The force of acceleration had Cullen pressed into the seat as he laughed with abandon, feeling every bit of the engine's vibration running through him. It was… exhilarating.

But he wasn't foolhardy… he hit five over the limit and levelled out there, still laughing as he reached over and squeezed Dorian's knee. “I'm sorry. I had to, it’s a rule. Maker, that was…  yeah, I'm happy with that.”

\----

Something about that bit of mischief in Cullen’s eyes made Dorian’s heart beat faster and his stomach do flips. Maker take him, but he _could_ love this man. This infuriating, sweet, gentle, and sometimes foolish man. He loved seeing him enjoy the things he liked, delighted in these very open and unguarded moments where he was just happy or sad or whatever, and wanted to see him like that as often as possible. Dorian had feeling those times didn’t happen nearly enough, and that hurt him somehow. Cullen should always be happy.

So he found himself laughing right along with him and groping for the little leather loop over the door that they’d always joked about being the ‘oh shit! bar’ as kids. It was an infectious kind of feeling, and when the car evened out he couldn’t help but tip his head back and laugh harder. This. This was the kind of thing he craved. To just be with someone and do sometimes stupid but always fun things was what he’d always wanted. It was just the right kind of reckless, the slightly measured kind, and Dorian craved it like he craved the man beside him.

The rest of the afternoon was spent just a Dorian had imagined: walking hand in hand through the little town after coffee and a quick lunch. It was relaxing. It was freeing. It was _nice_. They looked in the windows of all the shops, laughed at little trinkets and doo-dads that were so specific in their uses that they were ridiculous, and poked their heads in the ones that looked promising. Of course the place had art shops, places that sold prints, and while Dorian tensed every time they passed one and he cast a cursory glimpse inside to make sure... well, to make sure there was something he didn’t want Cullen to see yet, was hanging there, they did pop in here and there. Then, of course, a little craft store with hand dyed yarn that seemed to make Cullen smile like a child on their birthday.

He’d bought a bag’s worth of it, along with another set of knitting needles, and Dorian had happily gone around with him and touched all the soft and sometimes fluffy wares they had. Some of them were so nice, and he’d practically purred after touching one that was like a dark blue cloud. It had taken all of his willpower to not rub his face in it, honestly, and Cullen had bought some with a wink. In his heart of hearts, Dorian hoped for maybe a cap like Cullen wore made out of it. Maybe... Maker, he would have loved to wear something that Cullen made.

As they made their way back to the car, though, he reached out to stop them walking and Dorian pulled Cullen back into him, “just one more thing before we go.”

\----

The day had been about as perfect as it could have been, considering it had started with absolutely no plan at all. Spontaneity wasn't Cullen’s strong suit, but this afternoon, it had paid off, and he knew who he had to thank for that. Indeed, Cullen could barely pull his eyes away from the man as they strolled down the little town’s “artsy” main street. He delighted in every smile, every musical laugh, every twinkle in grey eyes. He'd forgotten, if he ever really knew, how freeing it was to just be or how much he just… enjoyed life. It had been dreary and reserved for too long - foggy, but now that fog was being cleared away. By him. By Dorian.

And now the afternoon was drawing to a close, and Cullen was walking happily, one hand holding his bag of treasures from the craft store while the other wrapped around Dorian's. He was just thinking to himself that _this_ was how it should be - open and without any secrecy or fear - when Dorian suddenly stopped and pulled him back.

_One more thing…_

“What is it? You want that golden nug statue, don't you… _I_ could tell.”

\----

He rolled his eyes. It had been perfectly ridiculous, and he’d told Cullen that he should mount it to the hood of the car just because it _was_ so ridiculous. Tempting as it was, they’d let it go. For now. Instead he just squeezed Cullen’s hand and pulled him back in so he could wrap his other arm around the man’s waist, “I think you’re covering for yourself,” he teased, “the look in your eyes about making it the hood ornament said it all.”

Then he kissed him. He kissed Cullen soundly and deeply and without a care in the world. As it should have been. It warmed Dorian down to his toes, and he nipped at Cullen’s lower lip once he needed to breathe, “ _That’s_ what I wanted.”

\----

“Payback for this morning, then?” Cullen murmured when he could finally breathe again. He was aware of the people walking by, but only just. Dorian had his full and undivided attention for the moment, and he deserved it for that kiss. Maker, Cullen doubted that he’d ever get enough of those kisses; he doubted they’d ever stop making his stomach flutter or bringing that heated flush to his face. “Fair enough, though I think maybe I still owe you a little something.” He tilted his head down and pressed another kiss, shorter and more chaste, to Dorian’s lips. “Later, perhaps.”

\----

Well, with the promise of that how could he _not_ be excited? Dorian’s smile turned into something a bit more wicked and he leaned into Cullen so they were pressed up close. How he wanted to make that a reality, maybe as soon as they got home. That would be nice. “Maybe not so much later?” he asked, “like... when we get in the door?”

\----

“Someone’s… anxious,” Cullen replied, and oh, how pleased with himself was he that Dorian _was_ so anxious to get him home? In short, very. A smile that was only a hair away from being smug spread across his face as he leaned in, as if to whisper something into Dorian’s ear, and nipped at his earlobe, teeth _just_ pulling at tender skin before he added, “Let’s hope the car gets us home, yes?”

\----

Oh, that was dirty. Cullen had to know it too, since Dorian shivered a little for it. One hand lifted so he could tangle it in Cullen’s hair, and practically growled, “That or I’m having you in the back seat,” he purred against the other man’s neck. Oh, but that would have been deliciously deviant. Maybe a bit awkward, but still delightfully obscene.

\----

The tug of fingers in his hair sent a little spark of electricity down Cullen’s spine and suddenly, sooner - much, _much_ sooner - really did seem better than later. Dorian’s voice growling low in his ear, the puff of warm breath against his skin… it was enough to make him consider the idea, and for one fevered moment, he found himself wondering if there was an out of the way dirt road or pull off along the way.

In the end, they made it back to the house, though it was an interesting ride, and one that saw Cullen driving just a little faster than perhaps he normally would have for the thoughts running through his head. He managed to park the car, pull up the emergency brake and unbuckle his seatbelt before pulling Dorian into a kiss that was far less chaste and a great deal more hungry than the one back in town on the street. “So what was that,” he panted when they broke, “about you _having_ me?” The half hour drive home had done nothing to cool him down, but he was curious about that particular turn of phrase... to say the least.

\----

Cullen was _excited_. Dorian knew he was. He knew it by how he drove and then again by how he kissed him. There was practically not enough time to get out of his seatbelt before Cullen was on him, and he wound his arms around strong shoulders so he could kiss him back with just as much heat and depth. Maker help him, but he felt every kiss they shared all the way through him. It was perfect every time, no matter how quick or slow it was. And this one was... amazing.

Finally, he had to breathe, though. He had to breathe and he panted against Cullen’s lips almost in time with the other man as he smiled to himself for that question. Cullen was so achingly sweet, when he wasn’t being almost infuriatingly sexy, and that little question made Dorian’s cheeks heat with the promise of what could possibly come from it. Them both, if he had his way.

“Well, if you’d be amenable,” he teased before he nipped at Cullen’s lip, “Maker knows you deserve to be spoiled, and I would be the _best_ at spoiling you.”

\----

“Then tell me,” Cullen breathed as he mouthed kisses down to Dorian’s neck, letting his teeth rake against the other man’s pulse before smoothing over it with his tongue and lips, “How exactly would you _spoil_ me?” This was going to get uncomfortable and soon, cramped as they were in the front seat of his car. Before this went any farther, they needed to go in, and Cullen wanted it to go farther. He needed it, needed Dorian in a way that he hadn’t needed anyone else before. Not just for what was happening in that parked car - he needed the smiles and laughter and life Dorian inspired just as much as anything else… but right now, he needed the feeling of warm skin and the sound of Dorian’s pleasure building and… and he just needed to not be in that car anymore.

But first, he wanted an answer.

\----

Maker’s breath.

Dorian groaned for the feeling of those teeth and he practically pulled Cullen on top of him. This wasn’t the place to be doing this. He knew that. Logically, he knew that. The rest of him, though? The rest of him said _no, this is perfection_. One hand tangled in those curls again, tugged a bit to pull Cullen’s chin up so he could kiss him deeply again. They were both aggressive with lips and tongue, and Dorian rolled his hips upward to meet Cullen’s for a moment.

“I want to _take_ you,” Dorian growled into Cullen’s ear, “I want to watch you squirm. And I want to watch you to enjoy every second of it.”

\----

When Dorian pulled, Cullen was more than willing to accommodate. It was tricky to slide over and into the other man's lap, or at least it must have been. He didn't really think about it, all he had room for in his head was just that driving desire and the force of _want_. Lost. He was losing himself again in the taste of Dorian on his tongue and the feeling of roving hands on his body and in his hair. A hiss of appreciation escaped scarred lips as those elegant but strong fingers tugged his hair, and his hands moved to pull at the bottom of Dorian's shirt. It was ridiculous, doing this in a car parked in his own driveway with a perfectly comfortable bed just inside and down a hall, but truth be told, it added to the heat and he was unwilling to move for the moment.

And then _I want to take you. I want to watch you squirm. I want to watch you enjoy every second of it._

Part of his mind lit up, and he found himself rolling his hips and cursing clothing as his fingers finally brushed bare skin. It wasn't enough. It wasn't enough and all he wanted was…

_I want to take you._

_Take you._

The meaning of that phrase finally sunk into a mind dulled with lust and cut through the fog. Eyes wide, he pulled away to look into Dorian's face. Cullen's  head knocked against the roof of the car and his back pressed into the dashboard, but he didn't really register any of that.

“Wait, wait,” he breathed as he worked to regain some focus. “ _Take_ me… as in… ?” His face was crimson by now, he knew that, and a wave of something like insecurity and maybe a little fear turned his earlier aggression into hesitance tinged with embarrassment. He should have known this would come up, but he just wasn't… he wasn't _experienced_ , not like that, and he was taken unawares. “Not that… not that I'm against it,” he said and coughed as he pulled his hands in and began worrying them as he cast his eyes aside. “It's just… I've never been… ah shit, I've never been _taken_ , not like that.” Amber eyes met grey then, and he offered up a little smile that was between sheepish and apologetic. “If that's what you meant.”

It was a… vulnerable thing. If that's what Dorian meant, it would mean something new and giving himself over in a way he never had before. But everything with Dorian had been new and unexpected and, most importantly, wonderful… so there was a part of him that was afraid… but there was a part - a significant part - that called out _yes_ and _be taken._ That part wanted to let Dorian claim his body like he'd claimed his heart. Completely, in other words, and without reserve.

\----

It took a lot of effort for Dorian to rewire his thinking. His brain was operating on that other level, the one that wanted only Cullen under his hands and mouth, but when the other man pulled away there was a brief moment of confusion. Confusion because Cullen was confused. Confusion because he didn't understand why Cullen looked so worried.

There was nothing to worry about, after all.

Dorian blinked. He tried to clear his mind enough to make sense of it, and reached out for one of Cullen's hands. Cullen was worried because he’d never been... oh. _Oh._ Well that would explain it. Slowly his mind could wrap around it all, and Dorian lifted one of his own hands to rub at his face. He’d assumed a _lot_ of things, it seemed.

“Well,” Dorian began, “I... can promise I'd take good care of you. If it helps. Start slowly and that kind of thing.” He leaned up for a kiss and smiled, “if you’d be interested. I can also promise you that if you decide you don't like it, we stop. No pressure.”

\----

“No pressure,” Cullen repeated in a soft voice as he followed Dorian back for another kiss, gentler than the ones that had come before. There'd been the fear, just a little, that maybe Dorian would laugh at him for that admission, but no. He was in this, like he was in everything, kind under the veneer of sharp wit and retorts. A different kind of heat washed over Cullen then, a curious expanding warmth, and he wanted nothing more than to hold and be held. Crammed in the front seat of a car as they were, though, that was difficult. So he curled over on himself to lean his head on Dorian's shoulder, nuzzling his face in under the man's jaw and pressing fluttery kisses wherever his lips fell. “Ok,” he breathed, “I'd like to. With _you_. To be… taken.”

Maker help him, his heart was pounding in his throat for that admission, for handing over just that much more of himself.

\----

Both arms wrapped around Cullen’s shoulders, and Dorian just hugged him tightly. He’d never known anyone to have a reaction like this to something... well, something Dorian had always viewed as the easier part of relationships. It wasn’t that he viewed sex as something less important, but it had always been part of the _fun_. With Cullen, it was almost an extension of that deep and almost completely encompassing feeling between them. Dorian had never felt it before. Before sex had always felt a bit separate, but now?

“We can do that,” Dorian told him into Cullen’s ear as he let his fingers brush at the nape of his neck, “slow, hm? Just... slow.”

\----

The arms around him, circling him with strength and warmth, were nice. But the low, soothing tones in Cullen’s ear were somehow nicer. He was content to just sit there for a while, head still resting on Dorian's shoulder. Just sitting there and taking it all in - the comfort, the low hum of desire that was still there, the smell of Dorian's cologne, just… everything. Everything that drove him a little crazy sometimes with need, yet still managed to soothe, to smooth and fill out all his jagged edges and keep his heart warm. “Slow’s good,” Cullen finally answered in a low tone, and then chuckled softly, “But not here…” His head raised then and amber eyes set in a flushed face met Dorian's, a hesitant smile curling his lips slightly. “Inside?”

Cullen's back grumbled a bit as he unfolded himself and managed to nearly fall out of the passenger side door when he opened it. Not his most graceful moment, and it flustered him, stoking those nerves right back up. Maker, it was like this was his first time ever, and he was suddenly cursed with two left feet and hands that were all thumbs. There was that same mix of excitement and a little fear of the unknown - the feeling that something was about to change. He fumbled with the house keys before managing to unlock the door and get it open, cursing his lack of finesse inwardly as he entered.

“I swear I'm not nervous...” he said once they were inside. “Ok, I am. Maker help me, I'm nervous, as ridiculous as that is,” Cullen went on with a self-deprecating little snort and a pounding heart, but he reached for Dorian's hand all the same. “But I want this. Like you said… slowly… please?”

\----

This was a bit like a comedy of errors in a way, and Dorian had to chuckle to himself (silently) as he watched Cullen stumble a bit. It was a boost to his ego that he’d reduced capable Cullen to this excited, nervous mess, but he didn’t actually want him to feel anxious. Yes, a bit flustered was good and maybe feeling like they were sixteen again and sneaking home before parents could show up, but not actually worried about it.

When they got inside, Dorian took Cullen’s hand and squeezed it before he let it go to cup the other man’s face. His scruffy beard pressed into Dorian’s palms, and it was an oddly comforting, and rather arousing feeling, but Dorian just looked into those amber eyes. They were bright with desire, but also with nerves and a bit of fear. That fear wasn’t what Dorian wanted at all.

“Look at me,” he prompted, and chased Cullen’s gaze for a moment before they were looking at one another for a long moment, “we’ll go as slow as you need to. Just trust me, alright?” He brushed his thumbs over Cullen’s cheeks and smiled, “there’s nothing to be nervous about. If there’s anything you don’t like, it stops. No hurt feelings. I promise.”


	20. Two Weeks [2 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nightmare wakes Cullen in the night, and Dorian learns why Cullen is the way he is.

Dorian was as good as his word, and the evening unfolded and built… slowly. Where there'd been roughness mixed with tender moments before, this was all slow kisses and gentle touches and making sure Cullen was still with him at every turn.

And he was, Cullen was with him until the end, though not in the same way he'd been there before. He was no less wanting, but it was a... different sort of desire. Before, he'd been happy to push, to pull, to lead at times and he'd moved with purpose with confidence. _This_ want? This one had him falling into a place he'd never been. A place that wanted to _be_ pushed, pulled, led. So he fell, willingly, into a warm, humming sort of fog that numbed his mind and wanted Dorian to control, to direct. And he did, somehow, Dorian just seemed to know what Cullen needed like this, and he guided and moved him in a way that was... sweet and never rushed. Considerate. Patient. Kind. By the end, he had Cullen squirming and panting out things like _please_ and _I need you_ and _now_ , had him begging for the thing that had scared him so much earlier.

And when the initial pain passed and all he felt was fullness and the stirrings of a pleasure he'd never known before, they moved together, slowly at first but building, until Cullen saw stars behind his eyes and his body shuddered from the sensation of it all.

In the moments after, Cullen didn't move; he just closed his eyes and felt everything. He _wanted_ to feel everything - every heartbeat, every panted breath - to remember the moment when boundaries expanded and things changed.

\----

Once upon a time, Dorian might have muttered something about never sleeping with virgins. He could remember it, during a whiskey-soaked night in University where he was tired of having to pick through guys who were only sure when they were drunk and still had their pants on. It had been frustrating, and Dorian hated that there could be any question about consent or... whatever. He’d practically promised himself that he’d never guide someone through their first time again. He’d just... promised.

Until Cullen. It seemed he was saying that a lot these days. There were so many things that he’d been so sure of, but had changed because Cullen was just... Cullen. In a good way. In a very good way.

He hadn’t gotten up from the bed yet, so much was his chest still heaving. It was late in the afternoon now, the sun dipped low in the sky so the room was awash in dark orange light, and Dorian just watched the other man. Of course Dorian had made good on all his promises, had taken things slow and built them up until Cullen had been begging him, but what had been the best thing was watching him come apart. Maker help them both, but watching Cullen come undone was probably the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. The actual act hadn’t taken long, more the lead up, but it had been... perfect. Everything he could have hoped for and then some.

One hand reached out and Dorian touched Cullen’s tattooed shoulder. He moved in closer, wrapped his arm around Cullen’s middle, and buried his face in his neck. There weren’t any words yet. Not quite. Right now the most important thing was staying with Cullen and making sure he was alright.

\----

The world was only just starting to come back into focus when Cullen felt a weight across his middle and soft, warm skin pressed against his own. It helped anchor him, pull him out of that place where he was floating, a little untethered as the last of those waves reduced in intensity and finally faded. His arms moved to circle around Dorian and hold him tightly as he just breathed, in and out. His mind was still assembling itself, threading together coherent thoughts slowly, so he contented himself with letting his lips press kisses into dark hair instead of forming words.

And really, what words could he use that wouldn't cheapen the experience and break the sense of tranquility that had washed over them? Cullen's body was aching, throbbing in places that he was unaccustomed to, but it all added to that sleepy, hazy sort of satisfaction. So he just lay there for a while with Dorian in his arms, loathe to move and savoring every bit of this quiet moment between them.

Until, of course, his mind fully engaged and something told him that maybe it was his turn to reassure, to let Dorian know he was fine. He was more than fine, really, and though he was sore and due for a shower soon, he was happy. Fulfilled in a way he'd never known… and not just physically. It wasn't the _act_ , it was the _letting go_. It was that he'd found someone he could let go with. Dorian was that for him - someone he trusted and who trusted him in turn… and maybe… maybe it ran deeper than that.

Finally, he pressed one more kiss into messy hair and let his hands begin running paths up and down Dorian’s back as he huffed out a light chuckle. “Maker, that was… that was just… you're just… amazing.”

\----

Ah, so it seemed Cullen had woken up a bit from his... trance? Whatever it was. Cullen had fallen down into somewhere deep during it all, and had been languishing in it for a while. It had been a wonderful sight, and when he seemed to shake himself from it, Dorian smiled and lifted a hand to cup his face. Those warm hands on his back felt good, and he shuffled in closer. Dorian could have lain there and enjoyed that for hours.

Dorian brushed his thumb just shy of that scar on Cullen’s lip, and he leaned in for a kiss. It was something long and slow before he pulled back and smiled again, “I did promise,” he teased warmly, “and you were... perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

\----

“Oh, I don't know about that,” Cullen sighed happily, “but with practice… maybe.” There was a sleepy warmth settling over him now, something heavy that practically required him to turn, to curl in close to Dorian, feel the man surrounding him, and drift off. As the sun finally set and the room grew rapidly darker, that pull only got stronger. If he didn't move soon, he wouldn't, not until morning at least, and considering what had just happened… that wasn't ideal.

Scarred lips turned up in a smile that said Cullen was absolutely spent, but happy, and he raised a hand to let the backs of his knuckles trail gently along Dorian's cheek. “I should shower,” he said, voice just beginning to thicken with the want to sleep. “I don't think I can move, though. Even if I wanted to. Which I very much don't.”

\----

“I can get in with you,” he offered gently. His own body was heavy with the want for sleep, but Dorian knew better than to leave Cullen alone. Not now. “I could use a shower too, after all that.”

He turned and pressed a kiss to Cullen’s knuckles before he grinned a bit and nipped at the other man’s fingertips. Moving really wasn’t ideal. What would have been would be just pulling the blankets over them and going to sleep. Just sleep. A long night of happy, warm sleep that only came from a long night of good sex.

“Come on,” he prompted, “shower then bed. We can worry about food in the morning.”

\----

Short of not moving and somehow being miraculously clean, that was the best plan. Still, it took Cullen some time to finally untangle himself and get moving. Even that much motivation came from Dorian, and he allowed himself to be led to his own bathroom. As the water heated, he couldn't help but think that, under other circumstances, a shower with Dorian would be… interesting, and he tucked _that_ thought away for another time. Not tonight. No, the rest of tonight was for comfort and warmth and drifting off to sleep wrapped up in this man who'd brought so much into Cullen's life in such a short amount of time. Change. It was usually uncomfortable for him, but this? This had been an unprecedented _good_.

All that aside, though, Cullen was only human, and took the opportunity to steal slow, gentle kisses under the running water as often as he could. How could he not? Dorian had been the catalyst to bringing out so much of Cullen, so much that he'd forgotten existed. Without even knowing it was happening, Dorian had become an important person, maybe the most important person to Cullen. Dear. Vital. He filled in the empty places and made Cullen feel like Cullen again. So, no, he couldn't help any of the kisses or touches or the laughter or the smiles.

Shower done, they fell into bed again, warmed from the water and each other. Cullen snuggled in against Dorian's side, draped one arm over him and laid his head on the man's chest. There was time for light kisses over his heart, murmured words of good night, and the reassuring sound of the man's heartbeat under Cullen's ear before sleep claimed him. He sunk under without a fight. Everything was just so soft. So warm. Settled and peaceful and so, so perfect.

Everything was so sharp. So hot. Chaotic and violent and so, so horrifying.

The taste of blood in his mouth. The sound of explosions underscored by terrified howls and wails of sorrow. Ashes in his eyes, making them water and burn. The world was in terrible focus, more real than real, and the fear... the fear was thick, heavy. A flash of a face, a ghost now, pale and afraid, but determined. Screaming something. Some warning. Some vain attempt to stop it all from happening.

_Last words. Those were his last words, and I can't even remember them_.

The thought was alien and odd, out of context and out of time, but Cullen didn't have the opportunity to think on them before his world went white and the air was sucked out of him. Fire. The press of death. Acrid smoke framing everything in sinister plumes, blanking ouy the sun. Blood. So much blood. That pale face, lifeless and staring. Shock. Pain.

Nothing.

And then…

The taste of blood in his mouth. The sound of explosions underscored by terrified howls and wails of sorrow. Ashes in his eyes, making them water and burn…

_Not again_.

Again. It's your fault. Watch it again. Live it again.

_Not again, Maker please, enough._

It's never enough.

“It is! Not again! No!”

Sweating. Breathing hard and wild-eyed. Tears in his eyes. From the ashes? No. No, this wasn't _there._ But everything was grey, and there was something tangling his arms and legs and he couldn't run and there was someone next to him and all he could think was _it's him, he's come through somehow. I can't escape it._

So he pushed. He tried to escape, though he was still bound. Nowhere. There was nowhere to go, and his terror ratcheted.

\----

What a wonderful night it had been. How comfortable and cozy and warm. Dorian had never thought that he’d ever be so warm, not in Ferelden and maybe not this kind of personal warmth, ever again. But that was Cullen. Cullen with his smiles and the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. Cullen with his big hands that covered Dorian’s own and splayed wide over his stomach or across his lower back. Cullen with his gemstone eyes that looked like candlelight sometimes. Cullen was warm. He was warm from the inside out, and Dorian…

Maker help him, but maybe Dorian loved him.

They’d settled in to sleep, and he’d fallen under easily and happily. His body ached in the best way, was heated from the shower and their warmth under the blankets, and it was like snuggling up with a memory Dorian hadn’t had yet. Maybe it was. Maybe this was how he was supposed to fall asleep from now on. And wasn’t that a wonderful thought? So he’d buried his face in those soft blond curls and slept soundly. Dreamlessly. Happily.

Until he felt angry hands pushing at him. It took a moment to register, but immediately his mind snapped to. A room. A room in the dark that he needed to leave. Someone was home. Someone would find them. He had to go. He had to hide. This wasn’t right.

_No_.

No. Cullen’s. He was with Cullen. He was with Cullen who was shouting and pushing at him and trying to untangle himself from the blankets. Dorian blinked as he tried to wrap his mind around what was happening, and he grabbed for Cullen’s hands. “Hey,” he prompted, then again louder, “Hey! Cullen!” He sat up a little and twisted so he could see into Cullen’s face, “Wake up. It’s me, It’s Dorian. Calm down!”

\----

A voice in the grey, telling him to wake up, to calm down. Saying a name. _Dorian_. Amber eyes rolled and his body tensed and pulled away from the touch.

“Dorian?”

For one breath, the name meant nothing to him. He was stuck back there, in the fear and guilt of the past… that man didn't know a _Dorian_. But in the next breath, his eyes settled on the other man's face and the past lost its hold on him. Cullen was aware that he was sweating and shivering, that his heart was racing and his breathing was irregular. But through all that, there was shame - he'd _laid hands_ on Dorian in his terror. Defensively, maybe, in his delusion… but that was no excuse.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

A wave of pain crossed his face as everything twisted and his stomach turned. He couldn't hold Dorian's gaze for long, so Cullen broke it and hugged his knees to his chest as he buried his face to hide and breathe until everything twisted back right again. “I'm sorry,” he said, and his broken voice was muffled in the blankets that had trapped him earlier. “If I hurt you, even if I didn't, I'm sorry. 

\----

Dorian blinked. It was dark in the room and without his glasses he couldn’t really make out too much, but he could see Cullen curl in on himself, and he slowly reached out a hand to rest it on his shoulder. It had been a long time since he’d seen someone wake from a bad dream, and never quite like this, but... instinct took over and he wanted to _help_.

“Easy,” Dorian soothed, and let his hand drift back over Cullen’s back, “you don’t have to apologize.”

He scooted in closer and dropped his head a bit, “just breathe for me, okay?” Dorian asked, and kept his hand moving in what he hoped were soothing circles. Maker knew he’d woken up in a cold sweat on occasion, but never quite like that. And he’d never heard Cullen yell like that before either. It was... rough. Painful to watch. “You’re alright now,” he went on, “it’s alright.”

\----

That hand working circles on his back was an anchor, so Cullen focused on that for a while as he did exactly what Dorian had instructed. He just breathed - in through the nose and out through the mouth - slowly, measured. And it helped. Thank the Maker, his heartbeat slowed and the bile that had been rising when everything was sideways receded. All that was left was him, but he was dimmer somehow, still sluggish and a little hollowed out for that dream.

Dream? That wasn't just a dream. Even _nightmare_ didn't seem enough to cover it. It was terror and guilt, distilled to a terrible purity and repeated over and over again until he couldn't sleep most nights for fear of it. It was the reason he drove himself to exhaustion before collapsing from sheer necessity. Only now, he realized, he hadn't had it since Dorian had been sharing his bed. Only now, he realized his nights had been calm and peaceful.

But it had really just been a matter of time, hadn't it?

Weak as he felt, his body and mind wanted more of the comfort and concern coming from the man next to him, so he let himself lean into Dorian’s strong frame, though he still gripped his knees and hid his face.

“A nightmare,” he explained, voice soft and still shaking into the blankets draped across his knees. “ _The_ nightmare. The only thing I dream of anymore. _Kirkwall_.”

As if that one word was explanation enough, though the riots, the attacks, the explosive climax of the whole thing was infamous enough to most that maybe it was.

\----

Dorian just wound his arms around Cullen and held him close while he calmed down. He didn’t murmur to him or anything, but just held him. Held him tightly. A dream so horrible as to make that happen? Dorian couldn’t imagine. So he held him close and kissed his hair until the other man spoke. That word.

_Kirkwall_.

He knew enough about political events to remember everything that happened in Kirkwall. Dorian had heard news reports and stories, talks on television and even in the Imperium about concern that something could happen like that there. It had sounded hellish. Horrifying. Dorian couldn’t imagine. Of course Cullen had spoken briefly of being a Templar, of serving the Order, but not much beyond the wanting to join so young and wanting to do something good.

But _Kirkwall_? Suddenly all those scars made a lot more sense.

It took a moment but he inhaled deeply and hugged Cullen tighter, “You’re alright,” he murmured, “Kirkwall’s far from here. And you’re not alone. I’m here with you.”

\----

In a sense, Dorian was right. In a sense, Dorian was wrong. So wrong. Cullen wasn’t alone, not any more, and he knew that… but Kirkwall was closer than Dorian knew. With the exception of the past few blissful nights of sleep, Kirkwall was _always_ there, just waiting for those amber eyes to slide closed each night. Waiting to replay those events in terrible clarity - his worst moments, his worst mistakes all replayed over and over again almost every night.

His brows furrowed together, jaw clenching and unclenching as his teeth ground together. Cullen finally raised his head and pressed the heels of his palms to his forehead, rubbing rough circles over his eyes. “No,” he said hoarsely, “Kirkwall’s never far away for me. It follows me. It won’t let me go.” His voice broke, just a little. He was _tired_ , so tired of having that yoke around his neck, weighing him down. “What happened… part of it, at least… it was my fault.”

\----

One eyebrow cocked for that, and Dorian just hugged Cullen tighter. One hand lifted to run through those curls again, and he just kissed the other man’s temple. Cullen was _shaking_ , and it hurt Dorian’s heart. It hurt so much to watch him in so much pain. Maker help him, but maybe now he understood a bit why Cullen maybe wanted to go to that place in the forest that was so peaceful.

“Bad things happen,” Dorian told him, “from what I hear about that time, a lot of bad things happened.” Grey eyes searched Cullen’s face, blurry as it was, and he bit at his lip. He moved his hands and tried to take Cullen’s from where they were pressed against his eyes, “Hey,” he prompted, “come here. Focus on me for just a second, hm? Just try.”

\----

Slowly, Cullen turned his head and finally let eyes rimmed red with misery settle on Dorian’s face. _Focus on me._ Well, Cullen was focusing, trying to shake off the ghost of the past that somehow always found him. That helped. It helped to hear Dorian’s voice and feel those arms around him. It was a warm sort of protection that loosened the icy grip the fear and guilt had on his mind and his heart. So he focused, willed himself to feel that connection, that reminder that he wasn’t alone, just as Dorian had said. He _had_ been. For so long, Cullen had been alone. He’d fooled himself into thinking that was his choice. He’d told himself that he liked being alone. He’d convinced himself that it was better that way.

But the truth was that _nothing_ was better alone. And he didn’t have to be. Not any more. Muscles that had been tensed to the point of cramping and shaking began to release at that thought, and he wanted to lean the rest of the way into Dorian. Pull him in closer and hold on until the morning. There wasn’t a question of getting more sleep, that wouldn’t happen now, but he could at least rest and let things right themselves to the steady sound of Dorian’s heart.

Something held him back, though. Some lingering bit of shame or guilt or fear, he didn’t know, but he couldn’t just fall into that comfort. Not when Dorian didn’t have the whole story. Not when the man didn’t _know._ But could Cullen tell him? Could he actually form the words? Would Dorian look at him with disgust and turn his back once he knew everything?

_Just trust me, alright?_

And then Cullen’s mouth opened and he heard himself start to speak. “Bad things happened,” he repeated, and though his voice was still shaky, it was more _him_ now. “But… they didn’t _have_ to be as bad they were. And I played a part, Maker help me. Other than my commanding officers and Trev and Samson, I’ve never told anyone all of it. It’s all inside, eating at me… nine years later, and it’s still there.” He paused and took a shaky breath. “We said we wanted more, a relationship, and I meant it… but you should know… what you’re getting into. Who I am… or was… if you’ll listen.”

\----

Ominous. Very ominous. But still, there was the part of Dorian that really wanted to help. Of course he wanted to help. He wanted to do whatever he could to make Cullen feel better. Clearly he was in a bad way. He wanted to talk. He _needed_ to talk. Dorian could do that. He could be that ear that Cullen needed.

“I’ll listen,” Dorian told him, “of course I will.”

Slowly, he brought both of Cullen’s hands to his lips and kissed them both. They were long and slow kisses, and Dorian let his thumbs rub against Cullen’s palms. Hopefully, it helped. He _wanted_ to help. He _wanted_ to do whatever he could to ease the pain in those beautiful brown eyes. It wasn’t a feeling he could remember having, but for it to be so bad it woke Cullen up like _that_? Dorian wanted to do anything he could to make it better.

\----

The immediate effects of the dream - the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the disorientation - faded in the face of the the kindness apparent in a simple kiss of Cullen's hand. What was left then was the same old regret, as familiar to him as his own name, mixed with the electric energy of nerves at finally _telling_ , but there was something else, too - an ache in his heart that pulled him to Dorian. It was that ache, both painful and wonderful at the same time, that bolstered him and told him this was the right thing to do. He drew some amount of strength from it, even as his hands shook a bit in Dorian's grasp.

Breathing deeply, he straightened and shifted so he could face Dorian. The room was grey, lit only by the odd sort of brightening that happened in the small hours of the morning before the sun cracked the horizon. He couldn't really see Dorian's face, just his outline against the light behind drawn blinds, but maybe for now that was a blessing. Still, he turned towards the other man, pulling the blankets around him for cover before taking Dorian's hands once more. He needed to keep that connection, needed to hold on to that warmth so the force of memory wouldn't wash him out to sea.

“This… this isn't how… or _when_ … I wanted to do this… but when has the timing ever mattered?” Cullen started, managing a wan smile and a single, soft chuckle before his face slid into something more serious, more apprehensive. “... the write up for me, on the show’s site… it says only that I served. That I was a Knight-Captain. That I was discharged. You knew that much, right?”

\----

Dorian nodded, “Yeah,” and moved in closer to curl an arm around Cullen, “I read it before I got up here. It just said you’d served.” He kept his voice lower, soft and warm, so as to not scare Cullen into thinking he’d made a mistake about this. Dorian knew he had a tendency to sound flippant, and he didn’t want that now. Right now, he wanted to be sure Cullen knew he was there for him.

“I didn’t know it was Kirkwall, though,” he went on, “I can’t imagine what that would be like.”

\----

“It was… it changed me. Even before the shit hit the fan, I’d started questioning. Why we were in Kirkwall at all, my commanding officer, my dedication to the Order… my faith. Everything. We were there to keep civilians safe from the _evil_ resistance rioting in the streets. But the thing was… the resistance _was_ those civilians - the people we were supposed to protect, and they weren’t fighting because they were evil or anything the viscount or the Chantry told us… they were fighting because they had to... to put food in their stomachs and roofs over their heads. It… it took an embarrassingly long time for me to realize that.” 

Cullen took a moment to breathe deeply, steeling himself for what was to come. This story… he hadn’t told it in almost nine years, at least not in its entirety. It was like tearing open a wound that had never really healed. It was going to hurt. It was going to bleed.

But then maybe… maybe it would finally heal. The arm around him, the warm voice in his ear… those things encouraged him to keep going… to just rip this wound open so it could be stitched back together properly.

“I was one of the youngest Knight-Captains ever. I was ideal. And I'm not telling you that to sound impressive. It's not a thing I'm proud of, not any more. I'm telling you that so you know - I _believed_. I didn't question. I followed orders and trusted that they were _right_. I trusted that we were the heroes I saw the day I made enlisting my dream. We had to be, right? We were _Templars_. The swift justice and righteous protection of Andraste herself. We didn't answer to nations, we answered to the _Divine_.”

His voice grew bitter with each word, he couldn’t help it. He knew the role he played in what happened, but a large part of Cullen knew the problem was higher than him. The problem was at the top. However holy the Divine was, she’d forsaken Kirkwall, just like Andraste and the Maker had. Even if it wasn’t corruption or malice, she’d turned her face away, and the city burned for it.

“Either way, I started off the perfect little Knight-Captain. Loyal. I followed orders. Until I didn't, anyway, but that came later. My assignment in Kirkwall… I led a group of new recruits, fresh from Basic. I'd come from training, had been an instructor in Basic, so it made sense. They were… they were good people. All of them. We called ourselves The Pride, and we were. Proud. They believed in themselves and the Order - they believed in _me._ Well, most of them. And even _he_ was good, even _he_ believed… just… in something else.”

\----

Normally, and this was certainly an issue that he was trying to work on, Dorian didn’t much care for listening about other people’s lives. Ironic as that was, considering his job, but when it came to relationships, he rather liked keeping that whole past/present thing separate from whatever good things could possibly be going on. Life had a bad habit of getting in the way. Life, it seemed, couldn’t leave well enough alone. So Dorian ignored it. He cared about the lives of his subjects that he filmed, of course, wanted to tell their story, but he’d never really met anyone that had a real story to tell that he wasn’t being paid to film.

Until now.

This would have been where Dorian shushed Cullen, once upon a time, kissed him to get him to stop talking so he wouldn’t have to know anything about him beyond the superficial particulars. It was easier that way. But he couldn’t do that. It wasn’t some fate-decided thing, not like in the movies, but just the fact that he cared for Cullen more than he could remember caring for someone in a long time. The last time he’d cared for someone that much, he’d practically ruined his life. Dorian liked to think he had a better grasp of what to do with that kind of thing now. So he could listen. He could listen and hopefully make Cullen feel better for having told this... story. Hopefully.

“Is that why the lion, then?” he asked, and nodded toward Cullen’s shoulder, “The Pride?”

\----

The tattoo? Ah, his lion. The one Dorian had asked him about… had that only been a few days ago? Time felt a little funny right now, when Cullen's past and present were mingling, and one part of him was stuck back _there_ , before he knew Dorian existed while the other was firmly _here,_ where it felt like Dorian had always existed. One side of his mouth curled up, and Cullen laughed softly. There was affection there. Those people, _his people_ , had been special.

“Yeah,” he answered, “We all got them. Lions. They were all different, suited to each person… even Keran got one, though now, I imagine that must have been… painful. After what happened. Because of who he was.”

And here it came. Keran. He'd laughed along right with them when the idea of matching tattoos was a joke, but he'd lined up, picked one out, and gone through with it when it became more than a joke. Cullen remembered that he'd smiled, beaming really, when he'd shown it to him after it was done.

“Keran. He was… thoughtful, funny, shy… not your typical soldier, but damn good. And I, fool that I was, I… had feelings for him. Not at first, but the more time we spent together… he always seemed to find me on off times when I was alone… he could always make me smile…”

Cullen’s voice trailed off, and he was silent for a time. This… the way he'd felt for the man was just as much part of what happened as the resistance and corruption. He'd  press on. He had to.

“So… I was soft. Nothing... intimate ever came from it, not like that anyway. It was… never acknowledged. It was mostly… just talking. Sharing. Laughing. But that's intimate in its own way, isn't it? I wondered once, right before everything fell apart, if I wasn't falling... But there was no time for that.”

“And that's the first order I broke. He was my charge. My responsibility, and I was getting too close.”

\----

One eyebrow rose for that, and Dorian leaned over to kiss Cullen’s shoulder, “There’s nothing wrong with being close to the people around you, though,” he pointed out, “it happens. People fall for people when they’re close like that. It’s not... I mean, I know it was a difficult time, but it does happen.”

Gently, Dorian nudged him, “You’re human,” he went on, “I know maybe you’re not supposed to think that when you’re, I guess, working, but you are human. It doesn’t make you a bad person for having a connection with someone." 

\----

Cullen shook his head and sighed heavily. “No… I mean, yes, I’m human, but… maybe if that was the end of it.” He paused and shook his head again, “But it wasn’t. It… it lasted a year.  People noticed. There were whispers. The Pride started… grumbling. I didn’t care. I noticed that he started doing… odd things. _I didn’t care._ I turned a blind eye. _He’s Keran_ , I’d think to myself, _of course he’s not doing anything wrong._ I _knew_ \- I knew he would sneak out after hours, but I didn’t say a damn thing because sometimes… sometimes he snuck out to spend time with me. And I didn’t want that to stop.”

There was a weight on his shoulders. Heavy. Cullen felt heavy, and that was only growing as he spoke. This story had so many ins and outs, so many little details and twists, but in the end… in the end it was simple.

“I let my feelings for him cloud my judgment, and that’s what undid everything. The year we’d spent growing closer as the city fell into ruin and riot… it was intentional. All of it. He was part of the resistance. A plant, put there on purpose to distract, to manipulate and keep us away from the real threat. He kept tabs on me, passed information, and nudged the Pride down blind alleys while the rest of the resistance worked on their long game. And I didn’t know, because I never so much as fucking followed him when he snuck out.”

He was getting to the end of it now, and that was a good thing. That weight was really pushing Cullen down now - he felt it straight through him and into his heart. Pulling him down. Burdened. But he was almost done. He could push through to the end. He could because he still felt Dorian’s warmth, still leaned into him for strength. Even so, his head hung from his shoulders and one hand went up to support its weight. The room had brightened, he could make out those bright grey eyes, and Maker, it was too much to finish this _and_ look into them.

“I didn’t know until it was too late. Riots broke out across the city to divide our forces and keep us from their main objective. But our objective was _him_ , and we tailed him straight to the Chantry. But we didn’t make it in time - we didn’t know it, but the bomb was already set. Keran was leaving, with others from the resistance, but we confronted only him…. And Maker help us all, he tried to say something, tried to get us all to leave. I… those were his last words and I have no idea what they were. Only that they were screamed at us over the sound of fighting from every corner of Kirkwall. And then the… explosion. Everything went white for a while… there was just… nothing. Nothing for a while. And then I came to, and... “

He’d held himself together admirably through this, somehow his voice hadn’t cracked and his eyes were dry. But this… it was too much, and the words choked him as he spoke. The hand that had been supporting his head moved to wrap around the set of dog tags he always wore around his neck.

“... Keran. Paxley. Hugh. Ruvena. They were… gone. Just gone. Anyone who was in the Chantry. Dead. Riots across the city. Civilians injured or killed. All of that because I was too… fucking blinded to make the right call. If I’d followed him… if I’d found him out… I could have… I could have stopped it… all of it, I could have stopped it. It was all my fucking fault, but _I_ was the one who lived. I survived and they all died… how is that just? How is any of that fucking _fair?_ ”

His hand still gripped the dog tags and his eyes were hot with shame and sorrow and anger as his body shook with the intensity of it all. Breaths came in uneven rasps, and he still couldn’t raise his head to meet Dorian’s gaze in the pale light of dawn.

\----

It was a long, sad story. It was full of pain and suffering and guilt. It hurt Dorian to listen to. It was hard to believe that Cullen, the sweet man who had dragged him out to ride in that car yesterday morning, could have lived through something like that. It was difficult to imagine that _his_ Cullen could have played a part to something like that. Dorian had heard reports, read things on the topic for school at the time, but had never known anything so _personal_ about it. He’d never heard the pain or the guilt from someone before. It was almost horrifying, honestly.

Of course Dorian had noticed the dog tags. He’d noticed that Cullen never took them off. Dorian hadn’t asked, had assumed they were his from back then, but not that he was literally holding onto the tags of those that had died under his command. It was a lot to hear, a lot to reconcile, and a lot to think on. But in all that, all the explanation and the talking about the subversion, there was so much guilt. Cullen held on to so much guilt. Guilt and pain and suffering and _death_. Dorian couldn’t imagine that. Of course he had his own shit, but nothing on that level. Nothing like that. How does a person live with that?

“You were young,” Dorian began after a long pause, “and you made a bad decision.” He rubbed his hand along Cullen’s back again, trailed his nails in a light scratch so that Cullen could feel it, and searched his face. “Bad things happen,” he went on, “but you can’t carry that with you like this. It was a terrible time, and terrible things happen, but it doesn’t make you a bad person. You have to know that. You’re not.”

His other hand moved so he could cup Cullen’s face and lift it so Cullen would look at him, “Maybe it’s not fair, hm? But you _are_ alive, and that’s important. You’re alive and you’re a good man that had terrible things happen to and around him. It wasn’t just your fault. No one could expect you to be able to suss all that shit out on your own. You’re _good_ , even with all of that, and that’s more than a lot of other people could say if something similar would have happened. Trust me.”

\----

“No,” Cullen whispered. “No,” he repeated more forcefully as he shook his head to free it from Dorian’s hands. Brows furrowed, tears of frustration threatening, he looked sharply away, back  down at the blanket pooled around him, but not really seeing it. He was still seeing the lifeless faces of his charges lying in the ash around him, still feeling the anger, the disappointment in himself. “I should have known better. I was supposed to _help_ people. I was supposed to be _better than good._ ” And there, his voice cracked, and the energy drained from his body as he let his head fall against Dorian’s shoulder. “I should have been better,” he repeated. The heat in his voice had died down, and it was small and shaking. “I could have been better.”

\----

“Yes, but it happened the way it happened,” Dorian told him, “but you need to listen to me, okay? You _are_ good.” He hugged Cullen in close and kissed his hair, “And you’ve held onto this for so long. Holding onto all of it like you have, it makes it worse. It feeds on itself and makes you think and think and think, and that’s not good for anyone.” Another shift so he could make Cullen look at him again. He needed Cullen to _see_ him. If he didn’t, he’d retreat back into that dark place. “You’re not a bad person, Cullen,” he said seriously, “you’re not. There’s bad things, but _you_ aren’t bad. Even if you don’t believe it... I do. I really believe that.”

\----

Slowly, honey brown eyes opened to look into grey, and the earnestness in them cut through all that guilt and bitter disappointment like a knife. To hear Dorian say those words - that he believed in Cullen - and to see how much he believed it himself reflected in those eyes, something snapped and the weight of so many years carrying this burden rolled away. Cullen’s heart was scarred, just as much as his body, but now he saw a way forward. Someone believed in him - someone who knew him, who knew his story. Someone who could understand him, and didn’t think him horrible.

Nine years was a long time to hold on to something. Nine years, and all that had had time to take root and grow, sucking up Cullen’s energy and will to change. It had left him dead in the water, but since meeting Dorian, hadn’t he felt a gentle breeze in his sails? Hadn’t it been growing stronger in the past several weeks, moving him forward… drawing him out of himself, inch by inch? It had, and that was because he’d dared to do something so simple as trust.

That sudden release of nearly a decade of barely-repressed guilt left Cullen boneless and a bit weak, but relaxed and almost… almost at peace. It would take time to get all the way there, but this was a start, and miles farther than he had been yesterday. A smile, tentative and weak but there, formed on his lips. “I know,” he finally offered after looking into eyes that were the color of a stormy sea, but far more beautiful. Far softer and more soothing. “I’ve lived with it so long, and I just… it’s hard. But it’s out. For the first time in a long time, it’s out. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I… I feel better. And I thank you… for listening. It means more than you know.” He moved then, closed the distance between them and nuzzled into Dorian’s neck as his arms wrapped around the other man. From where he was, his eyes just caught the top of Dorian’s wings, the tattoo that was meant to keep the man grounded. Cullen managed a soft chuckle and added in a soft voice, “These wings… you’re sure you’re not an angel? Are you hiding a halo somewhere?”

\----

Then Cullen was hugging him and thanking him, and Dorian just held him tightly. Hopefully that helped. Dorian wanted to do that. He wanted to help. He wanted to see that weight lift off Cullen’s shoulders so he could stand a little taller and feel a little better. It didn’t matter how, didn’t matter who did what for whom or whatever, just that Cullen felt better. That mattered to Dorian and the way Cullen seemed to melt into him made him feel like he’d done... something. Anything. Anything for this man that he, despite everything that seemed to have happened, actually rather... well…

That he loved. Somehow. In his heart of hearts Dorian could feel it. It was like a click of something he’d never known, but somehow was so familiar. It hadn’t been long, hadn’t been much time together to know each other inside and out, but Dorian knew. This, what Cullen told him, sealed it. All that pain and guilt laid bare to him, and Dorian loved him.

At that joke, however, Dorian just rolled his eyes and shook his head, “If I were hiding it, you wouldn’t want to know where it was. Considering everything I’m not wearing right now.” He smiled, though, and kissed at Cullen’s temple, “I’ve never been much of an angel, I don’t think, but maybe... for you? I don’t know. Don’t tell anyone, though. I’ve got a reputation, you know.”

\----

Another chuckle escaped scarred lips as Cullen pressed a kiss against the warm, smooth skin at the curve of Dorian's neck. The man was just… everything to Cullen right now. Comfort and security and trust, even if their time together had been short and tumultuous, a little unsteady and colored by Cullen's past experiences. Dorian was a shoulder he could lean on, literally and figuratively. He knew - somehow he just knew he could turn to this wonderfully charming, perfectly beautiful man who was truly kind despite protestations otherwise in times of trouble. Dorian gave him the freedom to be himself, without fear or shame. Dorian was the promise of support, and that was freeing. If Cullen never had to leave this bed, this moment, he would die a happy man. He _was_ happy, oddly enough, considering the pain he'd just shared.

One more kiss, and Cullen pulled back far enough to take in that handsome face in the light of dawn. Dorian was shining. He would always shine in Cullen's mind. That's how good he was. And maybe Cullen had been joking a bit about him being an angel, but part of him was serious. Part of him thought maybe Dorian was Maker sent.

“Your secret’s safe with me, then,” he answered with a warm smile, a real smile that reached his eyes and chased the haunted look he'd been wearing away. One hand moved to the back of Dorian's neck, and Cullen moved in to press their foreheads together as his thumb stroked through the soft, closely shorn at the nape of Dorian's neck. “But there's some truth there, I think. You've… changed me. For the better. I _feel_ … better. More myself than I have since… well, before then. You’re some kind of amazing, you know that?”

\----

Any other time he might have come back with a quip that he knew. Of course he knew how wonderful and amazing he was. He was _Dorian Pavus_ , after all. Anyone who knew him knew he was amazing and wonderful and nearly perfect. Even Cullen knew it. And the quip was on his tongue and ready to be tossed out there, but it was a reflex. It was a mechanism in place to deflect things like this. It was witty and charming and _dismissive_. He didn’t want to be dismissive.

“Well, out of anyone you deserve to feel better the most,” Dorian managed after a moment, and smiled into that handsome face before he lifted his chin to press a kiss just on the tip of Cullen’s nose, “I want you to be happy. You should be. Nine years is a long time to feel like you’re drowning, and... you don’t deserve that.”

\----

Oh, that kiss was so… sweet. It tickled, too, and Cullen wrinkled his nose as he grinned at Dorian. The dawn had come in earnest now, and it seemed the dark time was over. To Dorian's point, he was ready to stop flailing about, barely keeping his head above water with lungs that burned for air. The dream may never leave him, but he was determined now that it would also never sink him again. He could do that. It would be work, a shift in thinking, but he could do it. 

Still smiling, still feeling lighter for having gotten all that off his shoulders, Cullen followed Dorian back for a kiss, a proper one, slow and soft and so sweet, before falling back into bed. “I'm not sure how much I deserve… but I _hope_ it includes a few more hours in bed with you, because that's what I'd really, really like right now.” He held a hand up for Dorian to join him, happiness written plainly on his face. The terrors in the night now seemed far, far away for the light Dorian brought into his heart.

\----

The change in Cullen was palpable. He seemed relaxed, like he’d been the day before, which was a good sign. Dorian was happy with that. It was always better when Cullen seemed more relaxed and happy, really. So he followed Cullen back down to lie next to him, and Dorian curl an arm around his middle so he could trail his fingers over the other man’s stomach and through the soft curls that trailed from his navel downward.

It was a gentle touch, and he buried his face in against Cullen’s neck so he could press soft kisses just under his ear. After all that, Dorian just wanted to feel him. He wanted to enjoy that relaxed feeling in Cullen, enjoy that smile, and know he was happy. It was so early, but they’d gone to bed early too. Theoretically they could have gotten up for coffee, but Cullen wanted more time in bed. Dorian was inclined to agree. They deserved that much, anyway. Of course they did.

So he tipped his chin up and nipped at Cullen’s earlobe, “A few more hours would be good,” Dorian agreed, then smiled as his fingers trailed lower, “and I can think of a few ways we could spend those hours. Unless you wanted to sleep, of course.”

\----

Maybe it was odd that Cullen found himself reacting to Dorian’s words the way he was on the back of that confession. There was a definite spark of interest, stoked by the brush of teeth and lips against his sensitive earlobe and fingers moving over his body. Odd that, not ten minutes ago, he was reliving the worst time of his life, and yet… and yet he felt comfortable, completely, there with Dorian. Like maybe this could be the beginning to the best time of his life… and not just this moment in bed. No, this felt like maybe it could be good for years to come. A long time. Like maybe Dorian was everything Cullen needed.

“I’d thought,” he said as he turned his head and caught Dorian’s lips in a kiss, “that you might want to make up for the sleep I stole from you. But I’m open to any… suggestions for how I can make that up to you.”

\----

“Oh, I can think of a few things you could do,” Dorian murmured before he kissed Cullen again and tangled their legs together. Maybe that was just the thing to soothe the rest of those aches and bruises from that talk. Maybe they just needed to be together. Maybe... maybe it would heal the rest of those hurts to just be as close as possible.

He practically rolled Cullen on top of him and smiled up from where he was still sunken into the mattress and surrounded by pillows. Both hands traced over Cullen’s thighs before he leaned up on his elbows and studied Cullen’s face, “And I think all those things start with you having your wicked, wicked way with me. What do you say?”

\----

One eyebrow cocked, Cullen smirked for how eager Dorian was, how eager both of them were. He moved easily with Dorian, his body reacting to his touch. His skin was alight with nerves, oversensitive, and it was like all that nervous, fearful energy had turned into… something else. Something that needed an outlet. Something that needed to feel alive and wanted after baring his soul the way he had… and Maker help him, there wasn’t a better way to feel alive than this.

“I say,” he answered, tone low and rough as he splayed his hand out over Dorian’s chest and pushed him back down against the bed, firmly but gently. “It’s my turn.” He sat up, stretching to arch his back and then rolled his hips, pushing into Dorian, that smirk still playing at his lips. “And I can be as wicked as you want me to be.”

\----

_Maker, yes._

“So wicked,” Dorian practically purred as he happily fell back against that soft mattress, “the most wicked.”

And Cullen was. When they finally rolled over to actually sleep again for a while, Dorian was covered in yet another layer of scratches and bruises and bites. Everything ached in the best way, everything except his heart, and he was happy to fall into a dreamless sleep beside the man he cared so much for. If they were warm before, they were warmer now, and Dorian let himself practically melt against Cullen’s back as they fell asleep.

They woke a few hours later with the sun shining happily through the curtains. Dorian blinked a few times, yawned, and stretched before he snuggled back in against Cullen’s back and pressed kisses against the back of his neck. “Mm, we should probably get up,” he mumbled against warm skin, “or we’ll end up staying in here all day.”

\----

“I don’t actually see a problem with that,” Cullen answered, voice soft and thick with sleep. Sleep. He’d actually gone back to sleep after all that. Would wonders never cease?

As wonderful as it would have been to stay in bed, though, they did eventually rise for showers and a late breakfast and the rest of the day in each other’s company - several days, in fact. Days of doing whatever they felt like, enjoying the time they had together. Lazy days punctuated by car rides and trips to places where Dorian could take pictures, evenings on the couch with coffee and bad movies, nights spent wrapped up together. And, Maker help them, they couldn’t seem to keep their hands off one another. Maybe they were making up for lost time, or maybe they were trying to get the most out of what they had before it was time to go back out, but the draw Cullen felt towards Dorian was magnetic. He couldn’t get enough of the man, and, for his part, it seemed Dorian felt the same way about him.

And it wasn’t just the physical. There was something deeper there, marked by soft smiles and gentle touches and laughter. So much laughter. It was fulfilling in a way Cullen had never known, and a heavy sense of dismay settled over him every time he reminded himself that this time, perfect as it was, had an expiration date. Each time either of their phones went off, there was a moment where a shadow passed between them. So far, neither Trev nor Dorian’s bosses had messaged… but the time was coming. And soon. It was only a matter of time before the two of them would be back on the boat, cold because of the harsh winter sea and cold because all this would be over. Back to hiding. Back to secrets.

But they could do it, right? There’d be no more of that odd up and down, no more fighting. That would be easier, Cullen was sure of it. Still, the thought was sad, and weighed on him when it came to mind.

So they made the most of their time, and the days passed slowly and too fast at once. Until one afternoon, several days after Cullen’s nightmare, a delivery truck made its way up the driveway with a package that he really should have expected. Grinning, he signed for it and set it down on the coffee table in front of the couch where Dorian sat fiddling with photos on his laptop. He pulled his pocketknife out of his front pocket and took a seat next to the man, eyes bright with anticipation.

“You’re gonna need a moment to prepare yourself,” he started as he began to cut through the tape that sealed the box up on all its edges, “because you’re in for a literal treat.”


	21. Two Weeks [3 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian finally shares what got him into the mess he's found himself in before the call to head back out comes in.

These few days had been... amazing. These couple of weeks had been amazing, but these few days had almost been better. There was a level of closeness there, between them, and Dorian couldn’t remember ever having that. It was wonderful and warm like a blanket, but it also weighed on him. There was, of course, the inevitable end of all this when the season started again. There was also the fact that Cullen had been so candid with him, and he hadn’t really been back. Dorian should have been. He’d given the quick overview, sort of, but he hadn’t told the details. If they were going to make this work, Cullen needed the details.

So every day he woke up and said _today_ only for the day to be so good and he’d say _tomorrow_. They had time yet, but Dorian was running out of tomorrows. He needed to do it soon. He needed... well, he’d been looking for an opportunity, and had been trying to fill it by working on the shots he’d taken over the course of the break so he could have some to print for Cullen. He wanted to do that before they left. He had to.

Though Cullen sitting down with that package made him cock an eyebrow. Every day was a surprise with this wonderful, ridiculous man that Dorian... loved. He’d been saying it to himself more and more if only so he could get more accustomed to it. It was true, Dorian knew it was true, but it still felt strange to say. Even if it wasn’t out loud, it still felt strange. Strange but right, and that was one of the weirdest feelings Dorian ever had.

“Please tell me you sign up for some subscription box or something,” Dorian half deadpanned before he put his laptop down and kissed Cullen’s shoulder, “dessert of the month? Cheese and crackers of the month? Oh, or wine. Wine would be good.”

\----

“Better,” Cullen laughed and gave Dorian a wink as he opened the box to reveal… smaller boxes. Loads of them, all neatly packed, and a letter that Cullen knew would be full of well wishes and humor and love. “But actually, wine might not be a bad idea,” he went on as he pulled a box that looked promising out of the package and pulled the top off. Inside were rows of little chocolate truffles, each a work of art in miniature and bound to taste as good as they looked. “My baby sister… she dotes on her big brother a bit. Which I don’t mind, because it means I get _these_.” He explained, gesturing at the delicate little chocolates. “She’s in culinary, focusing on desserts and such, and I get at least one of these a year to get me through the season.” He plucked one of the candies from the box and held it up, “Here… try it. She’s really very good - Rosie got all the creative talent in the family.”

\----

And yet another surprise. Dorian had seen pictures around the house of four curly haired siblings that all looked so much like Cullen. They looked happy, arms around each other and smiling, and Dorian couldn’t help but smile to see them. Cullen had a good family that loved him. He deserved that. Clearly they did, too, for all the pictures and now a box of treats that arrived on Cullen’s doorstep. And now Dorian had an overwhelming urge to take pictures of them, so that they could have that gift from him. Maybe it was stupid, but Dorian felt it beating in his chest like a second heart.

He looked down into the box. Those were impressive and smelled absolutely amazing. Dorian did love chocolate, and when he looked up to see Cullen holding one out between two fingers he couldn’t help but smile. Oh, this ridiculous man. If only he knew what he was getting into. Dorian grinned, leaned forward, and carefully took the truffle from Cullen’s fingers with his lips so he could playfully lick at the other man’s thumb.

Maker, but the chocolate was amazing. He sighed, closed his eyes as the richness moved across his tongue, and leaned backward. “That... is awesome,” Dorian said happily, “and you get these how often?”

\----

Amber eyes went wide for the briefest of moments at that touch of lips on his fingers before Cullen shook his head and breathed a laugh. “You’re so bad,” he teased brushed a peck of a kiss against Dorian’s cheek before settling back in the couch next to him, letter in one hand and a chocolate for himself in another. “She usually sends me one or two a year. I, ah, I’m known for having a sweet tooth, and she feels sorry for me out in this house all by myself. Chocolates and cookies and tiny little cakes for her poor hermit brother.” He popped the chocolate in his mouth, took a moment of silence to savor it, eyes closing for just a breath in delight, and opened up that letter. Rosie’s familiar loopy script sprawled out across smooth stationary, and Cullen smiled to himself as he thought of her curled over her desk writing it.

_Hey Big Brother,_

_I hope this package gets to you before you have to go out. Mom said you were on break, so maybe it will. It’s got stuff I make at the place where I’m doing an internship this semester. Chocolates! I’m kind of loving it. Better than that class on pastries, anyway. Ugh. If I never have to laminate another batch of dough, it’ll be too soon. Too soon, I tell you._

_So enjoy - it’s got chocolates, brittle, a few pieces of fudge, and some brownies. Cookies, too, and some hot cocoa mix I made. Just heat up the milk and stir it in. Add some rum for more fun. ;) Share with the guys on the boat… and maybe see if Barris is single. I’m kidding. Maybe._

_Anyway, you better be being careful on that boat. I know you are, but still. I finally started watching your show, or I tried to, anyway, and I just can’t even, you know? I had to stop. So dangerous. And freaking cold. And they make you seem so grumps all the time! Well, actually, maybe that’s just you. I know you… Grumpybear Cullen. :P_

_I miss you. Maybe one day you’ll make it up to mom and dad’s? While I’m on break, hopefully. We all need to see your grumpy face._

_Bon appetite. Don’t eat them all at once._

_Love,_

_Rosie_  

“Maker help me. Grumpybear. I think I like Curly better,” Cullen sighed and leaned his head on Dorian’s shoulder as he pointed out where she’d given him his new nickname. Still, he was smiling - the care put into the package warmed him through, and like each time he got one, he promised himself that this would be the year he made it home for a visit after the season ended.

\----

Dorian looked over the letter in Cullen’s hand as he leaned against him. It was just nice to sit on the couch like that, and as he read Cullen’s sister’s playful words, something clutched in his chest again. What must it be like to have such a loving family? What would it be like to have siblings that sent letters and homemade treats just because they loved you? Dorian couldn’t even begin to imagine. He’d often thought about what it would be like to have a brother or a sister when he was younger, though in his childish way he wanted what love his parents gave him all to himself. Had he a sibling that did what they wanted, something he never did, then he could only picture what kind of shit he might have had to endure. But Cullen’s family, what he could tell from the pictures and this letter and what little things Cullen had shared... they all loved each other just because of who they were. It was a novel concept.

“Grumpybear,” he chuckled, then turned to kiss those soft curls, “I mean, she’s not wrong. You’re pretty grumpy on the boat and a teddy bear at home.” It was sweet, though. It was goodnatured and loving and sweet. “You’re really close with all of them, hm?” Dorian asked softly, “your brother and sisters and your parents?”

\----

“Pretty close,” Cullen answered as he tossed the letter onto the coffee table with a quick flick of his wrist. “Not as much as when we were kids, everyone got busy living. But we all keep in touch. Rosie was the youngest, you know, by far... and I may have been a little, let’s say, protective of her.” He reached for another couple of chocolates, one for Dorian and one for him, and then settled back in closer, resting his head back on the other man’s shoulder. It felt nice, curled up on the couch with the man who’d become so important to him. It _was_ nice, actually, and he… enjoyed talking about his family. That Dorian was asking, even though Cullen knew there were issues there, well, it seemed important. Still, he wasn’t sure what those issues were, so he didn’t want to go on too long… just in case. The last thing he wanted was to make Dorian feel bad. He never wanted to do that.

“And mom and dad… I told you they weren’t too fond of my decision to enlist… even if I’d waited, they wouldn’t have been happy. It took them a while to get over it, but it’s not like they stopped talking to me. They always checked up, made sure I was ok and eating well, you know, and when things got really bad… they welcomed me home while I healed and didn’t say ‘I told you so’ or anything. I owe them a lot. I should call more often.”

\----

Again, Dorian wondered what it must have been like. To be welcomed home with open arms and no snide remarks, he could hardly imagine it. To have a family that laughed and got in touch because they _wanted_ to was just... it made his heart ache. There was always guilt, always worry that he was being dramatic or something else. Maybe he was, but he didn’t _feel_ like he was. He felt like he was doing what he should to make his own life better. Still, he felt regret. He regretted that there wasn’t that love there: that unconditional kind that went beyond achievement or social standing or use. Cullen’s family didn’t love him because he was an asset. They loved him because he was Cullen.

“I wish I could say that,” Dorian commented as he took the chocolate and bit into it. The chocolate was dark and rich and not too sweet and it was perfect. “If I went home after doing something they didn’t like, which is pretty much everything, they’d never let me live it down. Probably until I died.”

\----

There was an underlying hint of something in Dorian's tone that made Cullen's heart feel a little prick. The other man's face was hard to read, but there was something hanging over him, heavy and dense, that Cullen could almost feel. Family. Over the past two weeks, there'd been little moments, pieces dropped here and there that filled in empty spots of the puzzle… but right now, Cullen couldn't see the whole picture, only that it was sad and upsetting to Dorian. Not in an overt sort of way, but Cullen was starting to pick up on the subtle cues. Deflection, dismissive humor, a quick pained expression that faded into something else entirely before he had time to really register it - all things that said there was more there than what Cullen knew.

More sadness, or pain, or regret. Or all three. Or none of them. Either way, there was more, and it made Dorian _unhappy_ in a way that made Cullen want to take it all away. Dorian was made to smile and shine, that much he was sure of, even though that puzzle was still far more blank than filled in, even though Cullen knew precious little of the situation.

But now… right now, Dorian wasn't deflecting. That was the most straightforward thing he'd said about it since the night Cullen had to go get him from that motel, in fact, though even that had been a terse explanation that was almost immediately buried in the anxiousness and excitement of Dorian coming to stay with him.

Maybe now… maybe now was the time for Cullen to do what Dorian had done for him nights ago. To just listen. If Dorian was ready, he'd do that for him. Of course he would - he was starting to realize that he'd do anything to make the man beside him hurt less and smile more.

“That's… a long time to hold onto a grudge. It must be exhausting,” Cullen replied. He kept his tone light, hoping that wouldn't make Dorian shy away, but couldn't help the way concern reflected in his eyes and drew his brows together. “It sounds like family gatherings aren't happy affairs, then…”

\----

“Oh, they’re pretty easy to handle... in that there aren’t any,” Dorian sighed, “I was dragged home from the flat that I paid for to my parent’s house, pretty much locked in and lectured for four days, and then I... left. They cut me off the minute I walked out the door, and other than a few emails and a voicemail here and there I’ve not really spoken to them.” He shrugged and folded his arms across his chest, “That was... a while ago. But I already told you that.”

And he had. All that was clarification on something Cullen already knew. Dorian wasn’t giving him any more than what he already had, not really, and he realized he was still stalling. Yes, yes, the sob story about his family was _so tragic_ , but it didn’t achieve anything. It was just... a story. Observations about what happened.

“The best thing was that I got to leave it,” he went on, “I’m sure they’re still trying to cover up the mess I left so their dignity won’t be questioned. It’s just ironic that I’m the one that left and they’re the ones who seemed to care so much.”

\----

Well that… that colored the pieces he already had and added two more - _mess left_ and _parents’ dignity_ \- though those pieces were blurry and unfocused. Cullen wanted to know. He wanted to understand what made Dorian tick - the things that made him happy as well as the things that made him sad. The curiosity came from a place of wanting so badly just to help, but even so, he didn't want to pry. Dorian's comfort outweighed Cullen’s need to know. He wouldn't press into where he wasn't wanted, not ever… but he could open the door. He could let Dorian know he was willing, more than willing, to be the person he could safely share these unhappy things with.

“So you left a mess. Everyone makes mistakes - I'm the poster child for it - but, whatever it was, that doesn't mean they should hold it over you forever,” he began and leaned in to place a soft kiss on one warm, bronze cheek. “But that mess you say you left… if it's still a… an issue that's upsetting… if you want to talk about it, you know I'll always listen. If it'll help. I want to help, even if that means we just sit here silently stuffing chocolate into our faces.”

\----

“There’s not much you could do to help, really,” Dorian told him, though he did rest a hand on Cullen’s knee, “as nice as it is to offer. It’s all more or less done, now.” He tried to offer a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. After hearing what had happened to Cullen, how could he really even talk about this? Cullen was suffering with something real. Something awful that happened that the whole of Thedas felt. He had real guilt, real pain, and what did Dorian have?

Shitty, stupid decisions that he made when he was drunk and too focused on putting his parents through as much pain as he could. What sort of person admitted to shit like that?

He looked down at where his hand was resting on Cullen’s knee and he sighed. To not talk about it made him feel like he was lying, but to actually say something just felt... petty. Dorian had no right to ask for comfort about that when Cullen had suffered real and legitimate terrible things. Any idiot knew that. Cullen would probably laugh. Or, at least, maybe he wouldn’t laugh, but what would he think? “Poor, spoiled, rich kid,” probably “you just wanted to rebel and not fall in line when your parents tried to set you straight. Stupid.” He could hear it now, and it would be deserved. That’s what he was, after all. It’s all he ever was. And everything he was going through now was just the consequences of being that way.

That hand on Cullen’s knee lifted and he started to get to his feet, “Anyway,” Dorian said dismissively, “we should probably get all this put up. I mean, unless you just want to graze on it instead of eating anything else today.”

\--- 

Ah, there was the dismissal.

“Wait, I…” Cullen said as he tugged gently on Dorian’s arm to pull him back into his seat. But what was he going to say?

_I think you're hiding how much it bothers you, and maybe you could talk about it._

But what if he was wrong? Maybe what Dorian had said, that it was all done and over, was really all there was to it... but it hardly felt that way. No, more likely, Cullen had pushed too hard or been too earnest. Either way, it hurt to know something got to the man that deeply. And it hurt a little, too, to think that maybe he didn't trust Cullen enough to really talk. But no, it would get him nowhere to think like that. It just… it just wasn't time yet. He'd decided not to pry, to let Dorian decide when or if he'd talk about it, and he wasn't going to go back on it now.

Cullen's eyes settled on Dorian's face for a long while as he wrestled with what he should do. In the end, he relaxed, smiled a little, and decided to let Dorian choose. “I can put this away,” he finally went on, “You decide what you want for dinner, ok?” As he stood and gathered up the boxes he'd pulled out of the package, he added in a soft tone, “But if you ever need an ear, you know… I'm here.”

\----

And of course Cullen wouldn’t want to hear this. Dorian knew that. Why would he? It was stupid and immature and probably really disrespectful to even begin to try to say that he had any issues to someone like Cullen who had lived with real, _tangible_ shit. It made a bit of shame burn in his cheeks, and Dorian looked down at his hands as Cullen pushed him back down. Maker help him, why had he opened his mouth?

It wasn’t like he was _lying_ if he didn’t tell Cullen, after all. There was no harm in keeping it to himself. The only possible trouble might be if Cullen were to somehow... maybe, find things if he did an internet search of Dorian’s name. People did that, didn’t they? Search about their partners when they first get together to make sure neither of them was a criminal or whatever? It would have been so easy, too. It was in the paper. It was in all the gossip columns. It was stupid trash, really, but it was out there. So did he decide to tell Cullen first or run the risk of him finding it on his own?

Honestly, Dorian didn’t know.

“I don’t think anything that’s happened to me can hold a candle to what you’ve gone through,” he commented as Cullen got up, “the last thing you need to hear is my whiny bullshit about the rumor mill in the Imperium.”

\--- 

Cullen stopped putting the boxes back into that package and spun around to face Dorian, brows furrowed and head tilted to the side. “Is… is that what’s keeping you from talking? Because of what happened to me?” He shook his head once, sharply, and let a long breath out through pursed lips. He’d decided not to push, but he never expected this, that Dorian would feel like his problems were somehow lesser or not worth talking about. “Anything I went through, it doesn’t make your experience less… I don’t know, less _valid_. I just… no. It upsets you. I see it every time I mention my family. I see it every time you wave it off with a joke or change the subject.”

Cullen moved to sit back down, twisted on the edge of the couch so he faced Dorian. When he started again, his voice was softer. “...there’s just a second where your eyes say you’re hurt, and if it still hurts… don’t say it’s _whiny bullshit_ … if it still hurts, it matters. It does, and I hate seeing that pain on your face. It doesn’t belong there, and I want to take it away.” He leaned forward then, eyes earnest, and reached for one of Dorian’s hands, “If it will help. If you can trust me with it… I’d like to hear.”

\----

And of course Cullen was so earnest. So concerned. Dorian couldn’t remember anyone being terribly concerned about what had happened, not even Felix. The usual response was to either _ignore it and move on_ or _fix the problem and ignore that it ever happened_. He’d gotten both from various places, including from his ex that had been involved. He’d shrugged it off, like he did with pretty much everything, and just... well, for him it was what it was. There was no reason for him to be concerned, after all. He’d gotten what he’d wanted. So for Cullen to be so concerned was strange. It felt strange.

He sighed, wiped a hand over his face, and pulled his glasses off to gently toss them on the coffee table. Sure, Dorian wanted to tell Cullen. He knew that it was better than him finding it out on his own. He just... couldn’t bring himself to make the words come out. After seeing Cullen breathless and crying and reliving the worst time in his life through a nightmare, talking about this just felt wrong. Bad. Stupid. Childish.

Dorian opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out so he closed it again and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t _hurt_ ,” he explained, “something that stupid can’t _hurt_. So... that, first of all.” No one could have been _hurt_ by something like that. Halward and Aquinea were arseholes, but he’d stopped letting them _hurt_ him years ago. Now it was a mild annoyance, if anything. So help him, he couldn’t let it be any more than that.

“I don’t know,” he breathed, “I know I should explain everything since there’s a chance you could probably fucking find it on the internet if you wanted to, but... fuck, maybe you should just do that and I can fill in the rest of it. The emotional... crap, I guess. 

\----

Maker help him, but he was trying. Too hard, apparently, but trying nonetheless. Cullen just looked at Dorian for a while, at a loss for words for the moment. That moment stretched on as he tried to find a way forward. Either Dorian was lying to him, or he just wasn't aware of how his face tightened for a breath and his eyes clouded over whenever family was the topic of conversation for too long. The latter, it had to be the latter for any of this to make sense, after what had happened after the dream. Dorian had a good heart, but that part, it seemed, was walled off.

Cullen shook his head and breathed out, heavy, as he sat back on the couch. “Stupid things hurt people all the time. There's no shame in it,” he finally replied with a soft voice, eyes cast down at the floor between his feet, “But if you don't want to talk about it, I won't force it. I won't go looking, either. I just…” _wanted to know more about you. Wanted to share this so there wouldn't be so much on you alone. Wanted you to trust me. “..._ well, I'll respect your privacy.”

Because it felt like he _was_ forcing it. Regardless of how he'd spilled out everything the other night… that didn't mean Dorian was ready to follow suit. Everything in the past two weeks, up until now, had felt natural. But now? Maker, had Cullen made this more than it was?

\----

This was going about as badly as Dorian had expected. This was also the reason why he hated having to have these kinds of conversations. This was where shit got difficult. It got messy and tangled and _hard_ and Dorian hated it. Of course he cared for Cullen, cared for him more than he had for anyone before, but he’d liked it when it was just easy: talking, laughing, sitting, all that. Those things were good. This? This was fucking terrible.

“No, we’re... we’re supposed to talk, right?” Dorian asked, “that’s what you do when you’re…” He took one of Cullen’s hands and squeezed it. “I just know how it all sounds, and when you hear it out loud it’s ridiculous,” he went on, “and I don’t want you to think it’s ridiculous.”

And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it?

“I don’t even know where to start,” he sighed, “I mean, I told you that my parents didn’t like what I was doing. Or, you know... who I was _doing it_ with. They always kind of hoped it was some rebellious streak and that I’d wake up at twenty-five and decide to do everything they’d always wanted me to do because I got it all out of my system. That’s kind of what it boils down to, really. I wouldn’t _listen_ and _behave._ Like a good son would, you know? Wouldn’t... hide the scandalous shit just to save face for them. Can’t have the only son of two Magisterium members off galavanting with men in public, right? Or... doing something ‘frivolous’ when he should be preening to take over one of their spots.”

\----

Dorian was talking, at least there was that much, but Cullen couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d fought it out of him. So, as the other man launched into his tale, Cullen’s emotions were a jumbled mix, and he couldn’t help but feel that he’d done the thing he said he wouldn’t. Even though he’d said Dorian didn’t have to say anything, Cullen had forced his hand. And now Dorian was painting a picture of rigid parents who wanted their son to fall in line and grow out of who he was. Of course that would hurt - even if Dorian said it didn’t, Cullen saw it even now on his face. And maybe talking would help, Even if it was clearly the last thing Dorian wanted to do.

So, Cullen turned again on the couch to face Dorian, held the hand that had squeezed his own and gave Dorian his attention. He’d listen to every last word. Dorian deserved to be heard… whether he liked it or not. There was likely not a damn thing Cullen could do except listen at this point, so he’d do that. He ran a thumb over the back of Dorian’s hand in circles. “None of that sounds ridiculous at all. It sounds… hard… like they didn’t accept any part of you. Why would you ever worry that would sound ridiculous?"

\----

“That’s not the ridiculous part,” he answered, “that’s just me giving you some context.” He shrugged again, “So... I was, a few years ago, going to school for filmography and tele-journalism. My parents hated it, thought it was stupid, so I was kind of working to pay for things myself. I did that after I graduated too, so everything was on me. I have, er... had, a trust fund through them but they still control it. Everything’s got to be okayed by them, and if I wanted money to pay for something they didn’t like, I didn’t get it. Which is why I don’t have anything now.”

That was a lot to start off with, and Dorian leaned forward so his elbows were on his knees and he had his forehead resting in his hand. This all made his head hurt, really. Saying it out loud just made him feel small and weak and stupid.

“I’d quit my job, I was a... like fourth camera on a few little tv movies for a private cable channel for a while, when a friend of mine from school said she was actually going to direct the movie we’d always said we wanted to do, and I was living off my savings for a while until it got going. Then it fell through, and that’s how I ended up on the show now. So... more context.”

\----

So all this had just been context. That was… an upsetting thought. As if having a set of parents that were apparently perpetually disappointed in him wasn’t enough, there was more. Enough, it seemed, to make Dorian hang his head in a posture Cullen knew well enough. That was physical pain. That was a headache. That was just being tired and hurting. He wasn’t sure how Dorian would take to a soothing touch right now, but Cullen couldn’t help but reach out a hand to gently work fingers into the base of Dorian’s neck - the same place that always flared up when Cullen had a headache. Maybe that would be ok. Maybe that would relieve at least some of that.

“Context is good,” he said in what he hoped was an encouraging tone, “But, hey, if you’re getting a headache… we can pick this up another time. Really. There’s no reason to force it.”

\----

“It’s fine,” Dorian replied with a quick wave of his free hand. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle, anyway. He’d dealt with this for a while, and now that he’d started... Maker help him, he wasn’t sure he could stop. Stupid. It was all so fucking stupid. Stupid and weak and Cullen had to sit there and listen and now he was trying to make him feel better. He shouldn’t have had to do that. Maybe he was trying to get Dorian to shut up. Maybe he recognized how ridiculous it was and _didn’t_ want to know. He didn’t really know anymore.

Maybe he really was that immature little shit who just wanted to talk about himself. He’d been called that enough times in his life to kind of believe it. He was _Dorian Pavus_ after all. No one loved him better than he loved himself, right?

“But, uh, between all that, right?” he went on, “I was... seeing this guy for a while. His parents are friends with mine, sort of in a roundabout way, and we’d met a few times when we were younger before we met up again at school. He was an art student, photography, and we were... pretty hot and heavy.”

Again, he wiped a hand over his face and sighed. He hated talking about Rilienus. He hated it. It made the feeling of being young and immature and stupid and weak feel magnified a hundred-fold. Everything about all that screamed ‘young and stupid’ didn’t it?

“I think maybe I thought I loved him, or as close as I’d ever felt like that up til then,” Dorian mused, “not that I knew what that felt like. We kind of did our own thing most of the time until we met up and fucked or went out or whatever. But he was sweet to me. Kind. He listened when I talked about the things I loved and seemed to actually be interested in it. I’d... never had that before. Not really.” Grey eyes lifted to look over at Cullen for just a moment before he licked his lips, “but he was always kind of about whatever he wanted. Which, you know, is fine. I don’t mind that. I was doing my own thing at the time, too, so I couldn’t really be upset about it." 

This was long. Long and stupid. How the fuck Cullen was even still listening was beyond him. Maker, he should have just stopped when Cullen gave him the out earlier.

“Long story short, I guess, he’d sometimes use me as a model. Nothing, you know, gross or anything, but he always used to say I was his muse. It was bullshit and I knew it, but I was there and handsome enough to test out whatever idea he got. So he calls me to go over to his studio where he was working on some stuff for a gallery showing and it was... I guess you’d call it ‘tasteful nude.’ Lots of poses hiding _most_ everything, but enough to be pretty scandalous. Probably just shy of porn or whatever, and I didn’t think too much about it because... you know, dating and it wasn’t like he didn’t have pictures of me like that anyway.” Fuck, he was rambling. This was supposed to be short, wasn’t it? Shit. “Anyway,” Dorian paused then. He couldn’t... he couldn’t say the words. They dried in his mouth like cotton.

“Come to find out those pictures made it into a showing. With my face. And, I mean, I didn’t care. Good for him, right? Lots of industry people there that were interested, and it was good exposure for him. Like I said, I practically loved the guy as much as I thought I could so I was supportive, but... it made it to the press,” Dorian explained, “and all that got out. You can imagine how _that_ went.”

\----

The whole time Dorian spoke, Cullen's hand remained where he'd put it, high on the man's back. His fingers kept working, kept moving up and down Dorian's neck and lower onto his shoulders. The man's tone was spiky and unsure, a little bitter and aloof, but Cullen didn't want him to feel alone. Because under the agitation, there was a beating heart that had been wounded once, over and over again if what Dorian had revealed in fits and spurts was any indicator. It was no wonder he'd been hiding it under layers of wit and charm. Cullen recognized armor when he saw it.

But that story was… not what he expected. Then again, nothing with Dorian ever was. At first blush, there was the thought _it was just… just pictures that made his parents cut their only son off?_ , but that wasn't fair. Of course it wasn't _just_ pictures, it was likely what the pictures represented. A son who wouldn't step in line and follow the path they'd laid out for him. A son who made choices they found frivolous or repugnant. Based on what Dorian had told him, the pictures, the public scandal… that would have probably been the icing on the cake. Justification for their actions. The problems of trust funds and high society were completely alien to Cullen, but those were just details that surrounded the heart of the problem.

“I can't,” he replied, voice low and smooth, “That world… I don't know how things work there. I was never one to understand political maneuvering or social standing, even when I should have in the Templars… I never played that game.” He paused. That… though it was the truth, it made it sound like Cullen was dismissing Dorian's experience. He wasn't, not at all. A breath, and then he moved his free hand to run along Dorian's jaw, gently turning his face so Cullen could look into those grey eyes. “But that's not really the issue, is it - whatever scandal that was kicked up by those pictures. The issue was parents who treated you like… like extensions of themselves. A… a pawn to be moved where they wanted? I don't know much, but that's what it feels like. And if I'm right, it's no wonder you did the things you did. If you feel trapped, of course you'll try to escape. And you did. And that's nothing to be… ashamed of or think is _stupid_. Maker, it would have been easier to just do what they wanted, right? Collect your trust fund and live a posh life… but you didn't do that. Even before the pictures, you tried to live the way that felt true to you. That's _strength_ , not _whiny bullshit_.” He took a breath and shook his head before meeting Dorian's eyes again. “Don't you think for a second that anything you went through was ridiculous or stupid… don't you think for a second that I think less of you because of it. It was brave. _You_ are brave.”

\----

There was the urge to roll his eyes. Much though he appreciated Cullen’s... concern, there was no way that he could believe that Cullen thought it was anything other that spoiled and stupid. To be told he was _brave_ to have lived it... Maker, he wasn’t. Dorian knew he wasn’t. It was a sweet sentiment, sure, but Dorian knew himself and his life a little better than that. Easy as it would be to sink into those arms and agree that yes, he’d had it so hard... he hadn’t. How could he pretend that he had? He’d made a bad decision and had to live with the consequences.

“It wasn’t brave,” he replied with a shake of his head, “it was a mess.” Still, Dorian searched Cullen’s face. The man seemed earnest enough, but Dorian did have to wonder if Cullen wasn’t just placating him. A man that lived through what Cullen lived through would have no need for the stupid shit like the Tevinter gossip pages. It didn’t matter that his picture had been splashed across every rag for a month with only the Maker knew all the slurs and rumors attached. Cullen wouldn’t understand that. He didn’t need to. Why would he need to?

He sighed and leaned over to kiss Cullen’s shoulder, “but... thank you, anyway. I’m just glad you didn’t know me back when it was on all the covers and I got called... well, I won’t repeat it. But that went on a while.”

\----

It was Cullen's turn to lean over and prop his head up on his hand, one curled fist pressed into his temple as he looked over at Dorian for long moment, searching the man's face. “You don't believe me,” he finally said with a little shake of his head, voice resigned. Dorian hadn't even wanted to talk about this, had assumed Cullen would think it dumb, and now that Cullen was telling him otherwise, he was denying Cullen's words and brushing it off with a kiss and weak thank you. “Well, I'm a shitty liar and I don't have a pokerface to speak of… but that's fine. You can think I'm just… what? Humoring you? You can think that all you want, but I'll just keep on feeling the way I do about you.”

And how did he feel about Dorian, exactly?

“I'll keep on knowing that you've got strength in you… seeing your bravery and how incredible you really are until you see it, too. There's nothing you can say, nothing you've done, that will change my mind… I'm quite stubborn.”

But that wasn't all. It wasn't quite right… there was _more_ , wasn't there?

“You're… special to me. _Important_ in a way I've never known… and that's because of who you are… which includes all of you. Past or present. Whether you believe me or not.”

\----

He just... watched Cullen’s eyes. They were sincere, which was still strange, and Dorian’s cheeks burned a little with the shame of having told that story. The fact that Cullen was still looking at him, still talking to him, and still... trying to make him feel okay. Dorian didn’t know what to do with that. It was weird. It felt weird.

“I don’t really know how to take that,” Dorian told him, then realized how that sounded and he shook his head, “I mean, I _know_ how to take it. I know what you’re saying, I suppose, but no one’s ever told me anything like that. About any of it. I don’t really know what to do with it right now.” He sighed and leaned back against the arm of the couch, “Any time someone says what you said, or anything like it, it’s always to be patronizing. I know you’re not, but it’s hard to hear it any other way sometimes.”

\----

“Well, that’s alright, then,” Cullen answered. And it was. It wasn’t total acceptance, and Dorian had leaned away from him, but it was an honest answer - not dismissive, and it at least acknowledged that Cullen was being truthful. “It can be hard… to see what others see and take it for what it is when you don’t see it yourself. I know.”

Cullen was at a little bit of a loss, though, for what to do next. His instinct was to move closer, to wrap his arms around Dorian and keep reassuring him that he was, in fact, a remarkable human being. But the man had been defensive, almost bristling against Cullen’s words, so he wasn’t sure. Still, he’d been flying by the seat of his pants this whole time, doing what felt right once he was done fighting that initial attraction, so maybe it would be ok.

Slowly, carefully, he slid closer across the couch until their thighs were touching and he couldn’t go any further without climbing into Dorian’s lap. One hand raised to cup Dorian’s cheek and guide him so their eyes met. “But I can help you… to see what I see. In time.”

\----

That blush was still making his cheeks heat, but... this was okay. It was better. Dorian nuzzled his cheek into Cullen’s hand and pressed a kiss to Cullen’s wrist. That warm hand made some of that shame recede a little bit, and that helped. So he leaned in and pressed his face against Cullen’s neck. There really was something nice about having the other man close. His words, for as hard as it was for Dorian to really accept them as they were for now, healed some of that... hurt. That hurt he’d said he didn’t feel.

“I…” _love you, "_ care about you more than I ever have anyone else before,” Dorian said into the warm skin of Cullen’s throat, “and there’s a part of me that wonders if it’s maybe moving too fast or something, but there’s another part that doesn’t honestly give a fuck. Is that weird, do you think?”

\----

Amber eyes snapped open wide before they softened and Cullen breathed out a low chuckle as he wrapped his arms around Dorian. Finally. That was better. The conversation had been hard, even harder to know Dorian went through the world just… assuming everyone would think his problems inconsequential, that they weren't worth anyone's time. Difficult to learn that the man who had managed to reach Cullen's heart and open him up questioned his own worth like that. But that was ok, because, in the end, it had brought them to this… closer and with a better understanding of each other. Besides, Cullen wasn't naive enough to think relationships, even the most healthy ones, were always easy.

And now this. _More than I have anyone else_. Something at the core of him melted, and his arms wrapped around that soft but solid frame tighter as he turned his head to kiss at Dorian's temple. “If it's weird, then so am I. Because I just… for once in my life, I'm happy to let go. I don't think I've ever felt this way… the way I feel about you.”

\----

_I love you. I love you._

Dorian heard the words with every thrum of his heart. He buried his face in Cullen’s neck, mouthed kisses at warm skin, and shifted a little so he could swing his legs across the other man’s lap. It was a little ridiculous, sure, but it felt right. One hand tangled in Cullen’s shirt, and he just held himself closer so he could take in the smell and the feel of him. Slowly, though, his hand inched upward and Dorian twitched his fingers over the dog tags Cullen wore. Now that he knew what they were, Dorian couldn’t help but brush his fingers over them on occasion so Cullen knew he was thinking of them, of _him_.

“I don’t want to go back,” Dorian breathed, “this is everything I ever wanted.”

\----

If Cullen had melted before, those words breathed into his ear reduced him to a puddle. He didn't know whether Dorian meant he didn't want to go back to the boat or Tevinter or wherever he was before the season started, but it didn't really matter. It didn't matter because Cullen agreed. _He_ didn't want to go back, and that was an odd feeling. There'd never been a time when he didn't wait anxiously for the call to come, to get back on the boat. But here in this moment… this was perfection, and he was dreading that call from Trev.

“I don't either,” he murmured back, and he _meant_ it. Maker help him, he'd never had anything so good in his life and he just wanted to hold on to it for as long as he could.

So all he could do was enjoy the time they had before the call came. All he could do was let go and feel everything - all those kisses, the warm weight of Dorian pressing against him, fingers against his skin, the beat of their hearts. All of that was precious, and would be recalled later when responsibility kept them apart during the cold nights at sea.

But thoughts of freezing rain and rolling waves and what was sure to be a lonely, lonely time weren't welcome, not here. He leaned back to catch Dorian's lips in a kiss, gentle but deep. Slow. Warm. His chest ached with a feeling he couldn't quite place, but it was powerful and familiar all the same. And it made him cling to Dorian all the more tightly.

“Maker, I wasn't even looking for it, but this is all I want, too. You.”

\----

It felt like every muscle and joint in him released for that, and Dorian practically melted against Cullen. The man wanted him just for _him_. For who he was. Nothing else seemed to matter. All the bad shit, all the things that Cullen seemed to roll his eyes at before, they were why Cullen _wanted_ him. Dorian had never felt that before. So he kissed Cullen with everything he had and practically climbed into the man’s lap so he could just be _closer_ and kiss him _more_.

The Maker knew he’d always been greedy, after all.

So another few days passed, and now the time was really ticking down. Dorian knew it. Every time his phone chimed he feared the worst. He worried it would be his producers telling him he had to go back. He didn’t want to. All he wanted was to wake up every morning in a warm bed with Cullen to his left so he could curl up against warm skin. A cold boat where they had to hide all this.. .it felt wrong now.

It was early afternoon, after a long morning of sleeping in and luxurious and languid sex together, and it saw Cullen splayed out on his stomach with his head pillowed on his arms. Dorian sat, straddling his hips, and was leaned over with his fingers seeking out every knot and ache in Cullen’s back. He dug in his thumbs, found the knots with hands covered in cinnamon and peppermint infused lotion to help with the circulation, and gently loosened each one until he felt Cullen sigh and relax a little more. He’d done this a few times now, sometimes to put Cullen to sleep and sometimes just for an excuse to touch him in a way that helped him feel good, and he loved it every time.

With every loosened knot he bent down to kiss the spot his hands just left. He’d been working from Cullen’s lower back and up to find all those places. Cullen had mentioned a few problems with the discs in his back, issues he’d been having the last few years, and while Dorian knew he couldn’t _fix_ them, he could at least do this to help as much as he could. As his hands moved and rubbed gently, he found another one just below Cullen’s shoulder blades, and he bit at his lip a little as he set to working at it. This one was bad. It was huge and almost swollen, and Dorian leaned up to kiss just behind Cullen’s ear, “Still with me?”

\----

Dorian's hands, Cullen was convinced, were magical. They could be sharp and rough in the best ways, but they were also like this - strong but tender, full of healing. Full of care. He'd spent a long time over the past several days thinking on which of Dorian's many attributes were his favorite, and while he couldn't pick just one, those wonderful hands were far up the list.

And they were doing their magic right now. Putting him at ease, completely, and he felt like he was melting into the mattress under Dorian's touch. If it weren't for the little spikes of pain that flared up when one of those knots released, he was sure he'd already be asleep. He'd never been this comfortable or unguarded with anyone before… and he liked it. More than that. He loved it, this feeling that he could just be himself and Dorian was happy with that. In fact, maybe he… he could be… this ache in his chest might be…

_Still with me?_

“Barely,” Cullen murmured with closed eyes. “Maker's breath, this is the best. Be careful, or you might spoil me.”

\----

“I did promise you that, didn’t I?” he teased, and kissed at those curls before he leaned back again and set to working out that knot from the outside in. Dorian kept it gentle but firm, and he leaned up on his knees to get a bit more leverage so he could put his weight into it. Whenever he felt Cullen tense for too long he’d lay off for a second, then started again. It was a delicate balance.

He leaned back again, poured a bit more of the lotion into his hands, then set back to working that knot. It was a long process, but it was worth it both to learn Cullen’s body and to also make him feel better. This was also a good way to know where and how made him shiver and smile, which Dorian did love. He’d add a bit of that here and there just to make it even better. All that skin under his hands: pale and strong and scarred here and there, was beautiful. Dorian couldn’t get enough of it. He couldn’t get enough of Cullen when he was dozy and happy like this. He couldn’t get enough of him anyway, but it was like this that Dorian liked him best.

When he finished, an hour and a half later, Dorian slid off to the side and stretched out beside Cullen so he could wrap an arm around his waist. Cullen was drifting, like he always seemed to be, and Dorian snuggled in close so he could brush his lips over warm skin, “Cullen?” he asked softly, voice almost a whisper.

\----

There was no way to know how long that went on - it was some of the best treatment he'd ever been lucky enough to receive in his life, soft and so soothing, he couldn't help but doze. He sank down, deep into warm, dark waters and just let his mind slip away under Dorian's comforting touch. Heavy in a good way, he was on the brink when Dorian moved, curling into him and saying his name softly.

“Mmm?” he answered without opening his eyes, mind fuzzy with impending sleep.

\----

“When this is over,” he began softly as his fingers traced nonsense patterns into Cullen’s lower back, “can I... can _we_ stay like this?” His voice was so soft it was almost non-existent. Dorian didn’t want to rouse Cullen any more, but he did want to say this. He felt like he had to. His hand moved up so it trailed to Cullen’s hand and he could link their fingers together.

“I want to stay like this,” Dorian breathed, “amatus.”

\----

At those words, he surfaced for just a moment. He didn't quite catch all of them for how his mind was drifting off, and he had a strange feeling that one wasn't even a word, but he heard enough to make the corners of his mouth curl up into an open, slow sort of smile. He heard enough to make warmth spread down to his toes and his heart expand. One arm raised to wrap around Dorian's waist and pull him in closer, just to feel more of the man who made his heart so light and just… happy. “Mmmmyes,” he said through that smile, eyes still closed and mind sinking back down. “We should. It should always be like this.” His voice trailed off and his breathing grew deep and regular, but he managed a little more before sleep took him. “Together. Like this. Always.”

\----

If only. It was all that Dorian wanted. Just this, every day, and he could be so so happy. Every day with Cullen and his life could be, would be, perfect. Absolutely.

They napped like that for a long time, and Dorian woke to the sound of something ringing. A phone. Not his phone. He knew his phone’s ringer. Cullen’s. Dorian had heard it a few times when his sister or parents would call, and he grunted as he buried his face in against Cullen’s shoulder. It was still ringing. Fucking... it was still ringing.

“Cullen,” Dorian grunted again, “your phone. Tell them we don’t want any.”

\----

That damn ringtone pulled Cullen from an uncommonly wonderful nap. Forcibly. Why in Andraste’s name hadn't he put it on vibrate? He screwed his eyes shut, hoping it would go over to voicemail soon… but then it woke Dorian. Cullen turned his head towards his phone on the nightstand at Dorian's words and grunted, “We don't want any,” before untangling himself and sitting on the edge of the bed. One hand rubbed over his face roughly as the other reached for the offending electronic device.

When he saw who was calling, though, he was immediately and completely awake. Awake and… dismayed. Entirely and suddenly full of a dread that pulled him down.

“Fuck,” he hissed and swiped his thumb over to answer the call.

“This is Cullen.”

_Hey, it's Trev. Hope you behaved over the break._

“Yeah, everything's good. You know me. You?”

_Oh, you know. Time at home with Josie is always good. But it's time, you know. I'm calling all the guys in - to be at the Herald in two days._

“Shit, that soon?”

_That soon? Am I interrupting anything? Nevermind. See you in two days?_

“Yeah. Call everyone else. I'll see you then. Tell Josie hi for me.”

_Will do. See you then._

The conversation was quick, as it was every other year. But unlike every other year, this one left a stone in his gut and his face clouded as he turned back to Dorian. “That was the call. Trev. We've got two days.”

\----

Shit. Dorian blinked and tried to wrap his head around that. He was still half asleep, wanted to believe this was a dream, and buried his face in the pillow. “Fuck,” he drawled out long, and gripped at the sheets. He didn’t want to go back. He wanted to stay in this house with Cullen and pretend like the rest of the world didn’t exist. They hadn’t had enough time. There would never be enough time.

Slowly, he sat up and moved closer so he could rest his cheek against Cullen’s shoulder, “That means I’ll get a message probably tonight, if there’s not one already,” he muttered, and pressed a kiss against that soft skin. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

“I suppose running away to Antiva or Rivain would be frowned on, huh?”

\----

“If we want to remain employed, I'm afraid so,” Cullen answered with a half-hearted chuckle. The past two weeks had been… wonderful. Better than he could have imagined, if he'd ever imagined finding someone at all. They'd fallen into this little oasis of happiness so fast and so completely, it had been easy to dream that things would always be like this. But that call had been a rude awakening, and now they had to leave their oasis far too soon. Though honestly, Cullen doubted he'd ever be ready if it were left up to him.

It was oddly stifling to think that, in two days, he'd be back on the boat, gearing up to go out into waters far more treacherous and cold than they'd suffered thus far. Where he usually felt life pumping back into him at Trev’s call, now all he could feel was _no_. _No_ to the knowledge that he'd have to hide his feelings for Dorian. _No_ to the fact that he'd have to go to bed alone again. _No_ to knowing he'd be so close to Dorian, but so far, too. It was just… it was awful.

Antiva sounded like an excellent idea.

Cullen sighed heavily as he tossed his phone back onto the nightstand and twisted around to face Dorian. “But we do have two days,” he went on with a little smile, “Care to make the most of it?”

\----

The weight of ‘two days’ already hurt, and Dorian sighed again before he looked back up at Cullen. They really would have to make the best of it. There were weeks ahead of cold and loneliness and not being able to just reach out and touch the way he wanted to. Dorian needed to, despite having done so already, commit every moment to memory so he could recall them when he needed it most. And he would. He knew he would.

“Does that mean you kissing me?” Dorian asked before he leaned over and caught Cullen’s lips so he could kiss him deeply. Maker, Dorian was going to kiss him every chance he had. They’d spent the day wrapped up together, long hours in bed, but Dorian wanted more. _More, more, more_. He wound his arms around Cullen’s shoulders, pulled him closer, and practically wrapped his legs around the other man’s waist.

They should have showered, eaten, maybe tried to make the afternoon normal, but suddenly Dorian couldn’t think of anything but Cullen close to him. They could order in, watch a movie, and maybe try to play at normality later. For now? Now he wanted Cullen in every way he could have him.


	22. Whose Voice the Waters Heard [1 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Cullen (reluctantly) prepare to head back to The Herald.

Two days hadn’t been long enough. Two _years_ wouldn’t have been long enough. Dorian was convinced that, while they’d tried to pretend like things were normal, there would never be enough time with Cullen. It hadn’t been long, less than a month that they’d gotten to spend so much time together, but Dorian knew that any amount of time he got to spend with Cullen would never be enough. Now that they had to face facts and pack for the morning, too, he was so hyper-aware of it that it made his chest hurt.

Dorian looked down at the pair of socks he’d been rolling up, tossed them in his suitcase, and just sighed. His packing was a mess, a testament to how little he wanted to go back, but he didn’t care. The first time, when he’d packed to go down to Gwaren months ago, he’d been so meticulous. Now he hardly cared if anything was folded right or paired together correctly. He just... didn’t want to go. He wasn’t scared, like he had been the first time, but just dragging his feet. There was a part of Dorian that thought if he put it off then maybe they wouldn’t have to go.

He walked around the bed where both his and Cullen’s bags were open, and just wound his arms around the other man’s waist. Dorian buried his face in the dip between Cullen’s shoulder blades at his back, sighed, and just squeezed him a little tighter. They’d complained all night, put it off as long as they could, but now they had to just do it. He didn’t want to, though. Dorian just wanted to stay like he was with his arms around Cullen so he could feel how warm and solid he was pressed against him.

“You’re nice and warm,” Dorian breathed. It hadn’t escaped him that the weather got colder even in just these last few weeks, and he loved it when they were wrapped up together. Cullen was just such a comfort and warmth for him, and Dorian was having trouble adjusting to the fact that he couldn’t have it whenever he wanted it after tonight.

\----

Lost in thought as Cullen was, Dorian's arms reaching around him and the way the man nuzzled into the space between his shoulderblades was a welcome surprise. He'd been like that for most of the evening - lost in thought, but wholly unable to concentrate. The night _before_ was usually spent packing early and running through the lists of things to do at the dock before he collapsed into bed. And he was trying, Maker help him, but thus far, he hadn't been successful.

_Load the bait, empty storage units, pots, shots, food run, find the damn ice hammers… it's gonna be a cold one… Dorian might just freeze… Dorian… the last two weeks… the last three months… happiness… warmth… I don't want to go…_

And then he'd steal a glance over at Dorian, sigh and shake his head, and the whole thing would start again. In all the years he'd been doing this, he'd never put off packing so late, never had trouble getting all the little details straight in his head. He'd never not wanted to go. It was an alien feeling - strange, a huge change.

But then again, _he'd_ changed, hadn't he? Or had he just finally allowed himself to let go and be who he was before all that guilt and regret gripped him? Either way, change had been the only thing on the agenda since meeting Dorian, and it had definitely been change for the better… but that didn't make going back any easier. There was, of course, the hope that things would be better now that all that stupid fighting and misunderstanding was out of the way, but that line was still there. Regardless of how much time Cullen had spent awake stroking Dorian's hair as the man slept while wondering if that exceedingly deep and wide emotion that filled his heart was… well, wondering what it was… regardless of that, the line would still be there as soon as they set foot on the boat, not to be crossed while working. Not unless Cullen wanted to risk the boat's future… and he couldn't. He wouldn't. That was bigger than him, and while the temptation to be selfish would surely strike again, he wouldn't place his feelings above the well-being of his crew. Not again.

And so all these jumbled thoughts swirled in his mind where there would usually be lists, orderly and predictable. Those arms, though… they pulled him out of his head, and he tossed the shirt he'd been listlessly folding into his bag before wrapping his arms over Dorian's. “That'll change soon, I'm afraid,” he answered with a wistful smile and a sad chuckle. “I, ah, don't mean to dampen the mood, but you've never felt cold like winter on the Frozen Sea. No one has. It surprises me every year.”

\----

“Don’t tell me that,” Dorian whined, “it was bad enough before.”

Maker knew he didn’t really have the cold weather gear anyway, so what little he knew about this second season was enough to prove he _really_ didn’t have what he needed. That said, he’d slipped a couple of Cullen’s thicker flannel shirts into his bag so he’d have _something,_ but he couldn’t exactly put on ten layers and expect to be able to move freely. Hopefully it would work out, but... he wasn’t so sure.

That said, he also didn’t want to move from where he was. Cullen was warm and pressed against his chest, and Dorian just sighed happily. That was perfect. That was what he wanted. “We can just pretend for a while, right?” he asked, “imagine warm summers, a nice breeze coming in off the water, and it being warm enough to lie around naked without a blanket?”

\----

“I’ll tell you what,” Cullen began as he turned around on the spot and settled his arms around Dorian’s shoulders, “We finish this packing, and I can crank the heat up and make part of that little pretend game reality?” There was a warm smile on his face as he winked and bent his head to kiss the bridge of Dorian’s nose. They could at least have this one last night together before they were plunged into ice packs and snow and backbreaking work. One last night of warmth and comfort and being together before they really did have to start pretending. “What do you say to that?”

\----

“Here I was hoping to get out of the packing,” Dorian complained. He really didn’t want to finish. He knew he had to, but he didn’t want to. Not at all. He sighed, leaned up into Cullen, and just nuzzled his face in against the other man’s chest.

That little kiss to his nose was ridiculously sweet, which made his cheeks heat just a little, and Dorian linked his hands around Cullen’s back as he just took in the feeling of being there. Pretending was good enough, sure, but he wanted the real thing. He wanted more time to be sweet and enjoy this without there being the cloud of having to go back to work hanging over them.

Dorian licked his lips and looked back up at Cullen, “So... I know we’re getting ready to go back,” he began gently, “but, um... after? Maybe, since we probably won’t have a lot of time for talking, we should talk about the, you know... after?”

\----

_After._

He'd gotten so caught up in this comfortable play at domesticity and then the odd sensation of dreading - _actually dreading_ \- the return to the boat that Cullen had all but forgotten the fact that things would most likely get _more_ difficult when the season was over. Dorian hadn't settled anywhere since being cut off, and his people were all in Tevinter, so of course he'd probably go back there. It was ludicrous, the idea that he'd come back here… that he'd be happy in such a place. Even if Cullen recalled words of _always like this_ murmured before sleep took him, he wasn't naive enough to think that Dorian would drop everything to stay here. And were they even at the point where that wouldn't be just ludicrously fast?

So, after. What would happen after, when paychecks were collected and goodbyes said?

“What happens after? I don't know,” Cullen answered honestly as he looked into grey eyes. Dorian looked… nervous. His tone sounded nervous, and Cullen's instinct was to soothe that away. One hand moved to cup Dorian's jaw, thumb running softly over beautiful bronze skin as Cullen breathed in. “I take that back. I _do_ know… I know that I want _this_ … you and me _together_ … I just don't know how. Will you go back to Tevinter?” He shook his head, smiling wistfully. “Doesn't matter... wherever you are… we'll make it work. It's, ah, not like I have a 9 to 5, after all, so I could come visit. As often as you like… unless,” and here his brow furrowed as he realized he assumed Dorian wanted this to resume, “... unless you don't want that?”

\----

“I do want that,” Dorian answered, and it made his cheeks heat a little more to know Cullen did, too. He’d worried, even just a little, that this might be a just during the season or these couple of weeks thing. Cullen had never alluded to as much, which Dorian knew, but he did worry. He’d been, pardon the pun, a port in a storm before. This was certainly a storm, all of this, and he’d always kind of figured that he wasn’t really the sort to be attached in a _real_ relationship. That kind of thing had never really appealed to him.

Until now.

He pressed his cheek into Cullen’s hand, nuzzled his face in against warm skin, and sighed, “I don’t _intend_ to go back to Tevinter. At least, not to live. My things are packed up at Felix’s, which I’d need to go get, but I don’t want to _live_ there. Not anymore.” Grey eyes opened again and he looked back up into those kind amber eyes, “I was thinking I might, especially if i stay on with the show, maybe get a place in Ferelden. I wouldn’t expect, I mean... to stay here all the time. For a couple of weeks is one thing, but basically moving in together is something else. But... closer, maybe? Make the trip a little easier to handle?”

\----

A breath Cullen didn't even know he was holding in escaped scarred lips at that, and he felt his face flush with pleasure. Dorian _did_ want them to continue - he wanted them as much as Cullen did, it seemed, and that was… that was just amazing. For a moment, he couldn't find the words, so he just smiled down into that handsome face with what could only be described as a goofy grin plastered across his face. “Closer. Yes. Closer is good,” he finally managed. “I'd melt after about 30 seconds in Tevinter, anyway… but never let it be said I didn't offer.” He laughed then, maybe a little higher than usual for the way his nerves had released and his heart pounded with happiness, and pulled Dorian in closer, wrapping him up in his arms. “You know what I think… long distance will be hard, but not harder than this season… we survive _that_ , and we don't have anything to worry about.”

\----

Dorian pulled his hands from around Cullen’s back and cupped his face so he could brush his thumbs over Cullen’s cheeks, “It won’t be _all_ long distance,” he promised, and leaned up for a kiss, “but I want this. I want _you_ for as long as you’ll have me.”

Which would hopefully be for the long haul, if Dorian had his way. Maker, he wanted it so much. He wanted it more than he’d wanted anything.

“I just didn’t want to get on the boat and not say something,” he offered, “I just... so we knew. Even if it was only a talk and no plans. But I like plans. Plans are good.”

\----

“No, I'm glad you asked. Knowing… knowing is better,” Cullen murmured back, “It'll make the nights less… cold.” His words trailed off into a low whisper as he leaned in to claim another kiss. If he wasn't careful, the packing would end up being pushed further back, but for the life of him, Cullen couldn't seem to make himself care about that. To do lists and the early morning and the upcoming season… none of that mattered when he had his… his… “You,” he said, breaking the kiss and pulling away with a dawning look of realization, “You're my… _boyfriend_.” The word was both silly and meaningful all at once… a little juvenile, maybe, but that's what this was. That look of sudden epiphany was replaced by a wide smile that crinkled the corners of Cullen's eyes and wrinkled his nose. “Varric owes someone somewhere some money, though he doesn't know it.”

\----

Oh, Maker help him. He’d _known_ , of course, known what they were, but hearing the word out loud was just... Dorian had to blink a few times before he started laughing. It wasn’t anything mean, not like this, but it was his own realization hitting him that made him laugh like that. Yes. Yes, he was Cullen’s _boyfriend_. He was Cullen’s boyfriend, and Dorian was Maker-damned _in love_ with the man. And oh, how he wanted to tell him.

Okay, maybe that was a little much. That would be stepping over a line that a few weeks spending time together didn’t really allow. He did, though. Dorian loved him and it made his chest hurt in a good way.

“I don’t really remember the last time I had a _boyfriend_ , you know,” he teased, then shook his head, “and Maker help all of us if Varric and any of the others are taking bets. Though I’m sure there might have been one about how long it’d take you to throw me over the side at first, but I’m not upset that no one won that one.”

\----

Cullen laughed right along with Dorian. He had to. That laugh was lovely and infectious, and Cullen felt it right down to his toes - the warmth and happiness in that moment, but more than that, there promise of a future. Oh, there were details to work out and the trials of distance, not to mention what would happen if Dorian stayed on another season, but Cullen was sure it would work… and Cullen was never sure of anything, not where relationships were concerned. Looking into those laughing grey eyes, though, something clicked into place, and he was. He was _sure._

They just had to survive the upcoming season.

Still laughing, Cullen ran his hands down Dorian's arms to link their fingers together. “It was _close_ ,” he replied, “... before we came to our senses. But, you know… at least where _we’re_ concerned… that part will be _much_ better this go ‘round. So… ice caked on everything and long grinds and being so tired you can't see… that’ll pass.” His smile shifted, changed into something smaller but more private - warmer - as he leaned in to kiss Dorian's forehead. “... and then? Then there’ll be an _after._ ”

\----

“Cullen, I…” he began, voice soft and nearly breathless before he could stop himself, “Maker help me, I…” But he had to keep it in control. He had to. _I love you. You’re what I want. You’re what I need. Please say you want me like that too._ “I’ve never cared about anyone like I care about you, hm?” Dorian asked before he nuzzled his face in against Cullen’s neck.

They had to finish packing. They had to. If they didn’t they would have to do it later and that would cut into what little time they had left. “Just hug me for a minute,” he said, “please.” It was going to be long months of all those things Cullen talked about, and he wanted to have this to hold onto. “I’m going to freeze to death out there. I know it,” Dorian went on, “I’ll be an ice sculpture on the deck and you all will have to move around me.”

\----

_I've never cared about anyone like I care about you._

Those words were so breathy they were almost whispered, yet they rang out in Cullen's mind like a bell. That he was special somehow - unlike anyone else - he'd known what they had was strong, electric... but to _hear_ Dorian say it, and say it like he had, with so much weight and emotion? It made Cullen's chest both clench and expand at the same time. It hurt, somehow, but felt wonderful, too, because Cullen knew only Dorian could ease that ache… and Dorian was there in his arms.

Not for the first time, Cullen wondered if this was _it._ But it was starting to feel a lot less like wondering and a lot more like _knowing._

Scarred lips kissed silky black waves as Cullen buried his face in Dorian's thick hair and wound his arms as completely around the man as he could. If Dorian wanted to be held, Cullen would do that. Cullen would do that because he needed it, too. All of it. Closeness, warmth, two hearts beating with only skin separating them. The levity of moments before melted away, leaving only the dread that came with hard truth - these next few months would be lonely without this.

But he had it now, and Cullen meant to savour it.

“I feel the same,” he returned in a husky whisper, “Not about you freezing… that won't happen, you silly man… but… just… there's been no one, not like you. Not like _this_.”

\----

Dorian wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell him so much it hurt. But he couldn’t. Not yet and not before they went on the boat. It would be cruel to them both, and he knew that. It would only make the space they had to put between each other that much more difficult to deal with.

He breathed Cullen in, enjoyed the smell of soap and Cullen’s skin, and hugged him tightly. No one had ever said anything to him that was remotely like the words Cullen murmured to him. Not seriously, anyway. With anyone, and everyone, else it just felt like lip service. Cullen made it feel real because it _was_ real. The man wore his emotions, much though he’d probably argue it, plainly on his face. He couldn’t hide the affection in his eyes, or at least he couldn’t from Dorian. Dorian saw it no matter what.

They stayed that way for a little longer before Dorian leaned up and kissed Cullen’s cheek, “Alright,” he sighed, “let’s finish this packing nonsense. If we don’t now, we’ll be up late, and I don’t really want to waste any more time.”

\----

“Well, I'm offended,” Cullen teased with a grin, “This is hardly a waste of time, sir.” And it wasn't. It really wasn't. Cullen, at least, had decided he could have spent just about the rest of his life in that spot with Dorian in his arms and die a happy man. Perhaps that was a bit of rare exaggeration on his part, but that was just how content he was in that moment.

Still, Dorian wasn't wrong. The packing needed to be finished, and Cullen would much rather spend their last night together, well… _together_. Enjoying one another as much as they could while they still could.

“But you do have a point. If I'm going to stay up late tonight… I'd prefer that it wasn't because we were _packing_.” A small smile curled his lips and he tapped a finger to the tip of Dorian's nose before stepping back and away to turn back toward the bed and his suitcase. “Oh… I think I saw one of your sweaters out on the couch. Wouldn't want to forget that.”

Cullen had absolutely no idea if any of Dorian's clothes were actually in the living room… but he had something he very much wanted to do before it got too late, and that required Dorian to step out of the room for just a moment.

\----

They’d been doing laundry off and on the last two days, and the last load had just been finished a while ago. It would make sense. Dorian tipped his head up and snapped his teeth playfully at Cullen’s finger once before he smiled, “Hopefully that’s the last of the clothes,” he commented as he let go of Cullen and stretched a bit, “I swear I didn’t have this much when I got here. It’s like it breeds in the bags.”

He headed for the living room and picked up a few of the piles still on the couch. There wasn’t a sweater, but yet another stack of socks. Ugh. Dorian sighed, held them in his hands and just... sighed again. He could have sighed forever about it. He didn’t _want_ to go. He didn’t _want_ to have to stay away from Cullen. He _wanted_ to be able to take his hand and kiss him whenever he wanted. It was going to be cold and he would have liked to curl in close when it got too bad. Not that they’d have the space or time to do any of that, but Dorian rather preferred having the _option_. Being kept from that just felt wrong now.

“Maker help me,” he breathed, and shut his eyes for a moment. Dorian just... he wanted more. He wanted to have this for longer. It wasn’t fair.

None of it was fair.

\----

When Dorian stepped out of the room, Cullen stood still and listened to make sure the man was actually committed to walking down the hall. After he heard enough footsteps to convince him that Dorian was well on his way to the living room, he turned quickly to grab a parcel out of his closet. It was wrapped simply in brown paper, tied up with string, and Cullen moved to hide it within a stack of folded jeans in Dorian's suitcase.

It wasn't much, the contents of that package, and Dorian had watched as Cullen worked on it while they sat comfortably together on the couch most nights, but Cullen had never said who it was for… and Dorian never asked. It was the scarf, of course it was the scarf, made out of that stormcloud grey and dark teal yarn Cullen had found the first week off the boat. The yarn that had immediately reminded him of both the sea _and_ Dorian at the same time… two of Cullen's most favorite things all twisted together.

He'd thought to just hand it off to Dorian when he was done, but as the past two days had gone on, Cullen realized that he wanted to do something - anything - to lift Dorian's spirit. He hoped that this little surprise, and the short note he'd wrapped with it, would do that. He hoped it would make Dorian smile when maybe he wouldn't want to as he unpacked alone on the boat. And, as much as Dorian seemed to think Cullen was his personal space heater, maybe it would help the man carry a little of the warmth he loved around with him.

Happy that the present was out of sight near the bottom of the stack, Cullen went right back to folding his own clothes, just waiting for Dorian to return. “Wait,” he called down the hall, “You got it… it's already in here. Sorry!”

\----

Of course. Dorian sighed and carried the pile of socks back with him so he could put them in the bag. At this point it was mostly just toiletries and last minute stuff left. A lot of that would have to wait until last showers and dressing in the morning, and yet again Dorian was hit with that want to not go anywhere. That running to Antiva or Rivain was looking better and better the longer this went on.

“I thought we washed them earlier,” Dorian commented, then shook his head as he piled the rest of it into his bag, “I’m going to be in ten layers when I have to be out on deck. Then I’ll move like a marshmallow with no arms.”

Still, the look on Cullen’s face was... well, Dorian had learned in these last weeks when Cullen was trying to hide some mischief. He could only imagine what the other man had in mind with that look. Something fun, Dorian hoped. Cullen had said he wanted to stay up late, after all, and Dorian rather hoped they’d both get to take turns enjoying each other before they had to go back. They had been, several times in the last few days, but... Dorian was feeling something slightly more desperate now.

\----

“Well at least I won't have to worry about you climbing frozen pots or worse just to get a shot,” Cullen chuckled and nestled the last few remaining pairs of thick socks into his bag. “Seriously, though… please stay safe… and warm.” His eyes strayed to where he'd tucked that scarf in amongst Dorian's clothes, just to make sure none of that brown paper showed. Dorian's bag was a bit of a mess, and there was the worry - belated - that maybe the man would still take everything out and fold it up proper, but it was too late to do anything about that now. His own clothes were neatly folded and stacked tightly to one side of the overlarge suitcase. They had to be to fit the bedding he always dragged along with him, and he refused to bring more than one bag. Plus, well, that order was just part of his nature.

As he bent to grab up tightly rolled mattress pad, blanket, and pillow he brought with him on the boat, he went through the checklist of everything in his head. There was a washing machine and dryer on board, so he really didn't have to bring much and he could make it through _this_ list at least before thoughts of Dorian and just how much he didn't want to be packing distracted him. Satisfied, he stuffed the bedding into the empty side of the bag, shuffled things around to make room, and straightened up.

“That's it, then. Other than shower stuff… I'm packed.” He pulled the bag from the bed and put it on the ground with a grunt for the effort, then fell unceremoniously across the bed in the space his bag had just occupied. Honey eyes watched as Dorian moved to finish with his own packing - it looked like he might be almost done, too - before Cullen sighed deeply. “Though I have to admit… I don't want to be. It's never been like this… I've never _not_ wanted to go before. It’s just… I'm restless, I guess, don't mind me.”

\----

And with that, the packing was done. Dorian sighed, chuckled a little for Cullen’s words, and shook his head. “Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about the climbing on stuff,” he teased with a wink, “I want to play around with getting some different angles this go around. I’ll just try not to do it where you’re watching so I don’t give you a heart attack.” A slightly higher blood pressure, sure, but a full on heart attack would be out of the question. That was the last thing they needed.

Dorian zipped up his bag and put it on the floor before he joined Cullen on the bed and snuggled in closer. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to believe that tomorrow they’d have to go back to pretending they weren’t so close. He didn’t want to lose this feeling of he and Cullen together. He also didn’t want to be cold, but that was something else entirely. For now, he was mostly worried about losing this feeling with Cullen.

Yes, they’d talked about ‘after’ but that didn’t really keep him from worrying about this whole season. It was a long, hard, and cold time out there. He’d be sick again. Maker, just thinking about him made him squeeze his eyes shut and bury his face in against Cullen’s chest until his glasses were pressed up against his face.

“I feel kind of the same way,” Dorian admitted, “and I’m also really not looking forward to being so sick again.”

\----

That wasn't exactly high on Cullen's list of things to return to, either. It had been hard enough watching Dorian so sick and weak the first go around… what was it going to be like this time, when the best Cullen could do out in the open would be a hand up and a curt word? He'd thought earlier that it would be easier this time, now that all that ridiculous conflict and confusion was out of the way, but now he was starting to think that, Maker, this might just be _harder._ Harder to _know_ what this… this closeness and warmth and laughter and, yes, a bit of vulnerability… what all this felt like, but to have to deny himself.

_Just for a few months. Maybe less than six weeks if Trev hits the crab. We can do this. We can. We have to._

_But I don't want to have to._

A sigh that was more than a little on the shaky side escaped his lips before Cullen breathed in the scent of shampoo and soap and just Dorian. He'd have to try to remember this out on the sea. He hoped he could.

“You have to be one of the most stubborn men I have ever known,” he chuckled softly as he pulled away just far enough to meet grey eyes. A hand moved to gently pull those glasses off, and then he stretched out to place them on the side table before letting his fingers trace their way down Dorian's cheek. “You talk about climbing frozen pots in one breath and sea sickness in the next. If you have it in you to do all that climbing around and giving me a heart attack, I think you’ll be fine.” Another sigh and Cullen moved back closer so he could wrap his arms around Dorian and bury his face back into those dark waves of hair. “But you can be sure… as long as I'm on deck anyway, I'll always be watching you, even if it's just out of the corner of my eye… if…” Cullen's voice caught, and even he was surprised by how thick his throat was with sudden emotion, “Maker, if something happened to you…”

And there it was. If something happened to Dorian, Cullen knew he'd risk pretty much anything to help him. The boat, the crew, himself. Anything. Though the _line_ would be respected on the boat, that would be for appearances only. He'd crossed it the moment he opened up to Dorian that first night out… everything that followed was just the aftermath. Dorian had become… dear to him. Precious. The _most_ important. His well being was above everyone else's. Everyone else’s.

And while that was natural for anyone in… anyone with someone they cared for so much, it was not at all how a deck boss should be. One man… one crew member _shouldn't_ be more important than the others to a good deck boss.

_Maybe I shouldn't be the deck boss any more._

And maybe he shouldn't, but he had at least one more season where he had to be. He'd just have to… pray. Pray and pretend.

Cullen cleared his throat and kissed the top of Dorian's head. “Just… please be careful, ok? I kind of want you around when this season’s over. Selfish, I know, but…”

\----

If it were possible, they were closer. Dorian let himself be pulled in more, and he just relaxed into the warmth of it all. He could feel Cullen breathing, feel him speaking, and it made his chest feel all fuzzy on the inside. That, and he could all but feel that thickness in Cullen’s voice. Of course he’d worry. Dorian would never expect him not to worry. He worried as deck boss. He worried as a friend. Now, he’d worry as a lover. It was layers of concern, of care, and Dorian hugged Cullen that much harder for it.

“I promise nothing stupid, alright?” he offered before he tipped his chin back and caught Cullen’s lips in a kiss, “no running and sliding around, no chasing pots, and if the weather’s bad I won’t get up on anything too high. Is that good enough?” Grey eyes searched Cullen’s face, “only a few theatrics,” and he smiled.

One hand lifted to run through those blond curls and Dorian just... he felt like he might melt for how much Cullen seemed to care. They didn’t want to go back to the boat. They wanted to keep this little slice of domesticity. Maybe it was stupid and rushed, but he didn’t care.

_I love you. Tell him. Tell him before you go. Let him have that_.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t make himself say the words before they had to break apart and pretend like these weeks hadn’t happened. It would be unfair. It was more unfair than having to live with the words on loop in his head every time Cullen looked at him with those warm, kind eyes.

That hand in Cullen’s hair lowered to brush over his jaw, thumb over the scar at his lip, then moved lower to brush through the dog tags at Cullen’s neck until he found the one with Cullen’s name on it. He wrapped his hand around it, let it warm to his skin, and just rubbed his thumb over the impressed grooves of the man’s name. He wanted to put a little of himself into that, something so Cullen could have it close to his skin at all times, and he pressed the metal against Cullen’s chest so it was trapped between them both.

That would be enough for now.

\----

As Dorian moved, as he shuffled through the tags around Cullen's neck, amber eyes focused on Dorian's face, cataloging every curve, every line as the heart that beat in Cullen's chest ached. The gentleness in the man's touch, the unguarded way so much care shone through in those beautiful eyes, and finally… the dog tags. As Dorian's hand pressed one of them against his chest, all Cullen felt was warmth - warmth from the hand against him, yes, but also a spreading kind that filled him from the inside out, spreading and soft, somehow expanding out beyond what he'd thought possible before.

That expansion, it seemed, stole away Cullen's words… he couldn't describe it to tell Dorian how he made him feel even if he tried all night. All he could do was make a sort of odd clicking sound as his mouth opened then shut again. One hand traced a line from Dorian's shoulder, up the curve of his neck, and tilted his chin up as Cullen dipped down to meet Dorian's lips with his own in a kiss that was all softness and warmth and _emotion._ Slow at first, taking time where they had so little, it lasted and deepened, as Cullen kissed Dorian like it would be the last time, like he needed it to breathe… like he needed _Dorian_ to live.

“Maker,” he whispered, and he wasn't surprised to hear the shake in his voice. “I… Dorian, I need you. Please?”

\----

That kiss was absolutely everything. It was perfection. It was all the emotion and care and unspoken love, and Dorian poured himself into it as much as he could. This was what they needed before they left, before they had to go back, and there was no way that he could deny Cullen anything at this moment. Never mind the fact that the shake in the man’s voice was so astoundingly erotic.

“Like you need to ask,” he teased against Cullen’s lips before he kissed him again and moved to roll them so Cullen was on top of him.

Morning came far too early. The sun wasn’t even up yet, and Dorian was reasonably sure they’d only just gone to bed a few minutes ago. His body ached, which had been pleasant when they’d curled up together, and he whined for the sound of Cullen’s alarm. His stomach knotted so tightly that it hurt, made him feel sick, and he buried his face in at the junction of Cullen’s neck and shoulders.

No. No, he wouldn’t get up.

The last time his alarm had gone off so early, that day he’d met the man curled up with him, he’d gotten up without a second thought. He’d showered, dressed, and went without complaint. Now he refused to move. He would have snaked himself around Cullen to keep him from moving too, honestly, if he could. The feeling and the smell of Cullen’s skin was all around him, and Dorian was loathe to let it go. He refused.

No. No, he wouldn’t.

But they had to. They had to go. It was just the way of it, and he had to get up and do this. They both did. So, like he did before Dorian let his mind wake up a little and he cleared it of any other thought. He needed this. He needed the quiet. He needed Cullen there and with him to help calm the nerves that were creeping into him.

“I am not alone,” Dorian breathed softly against Cullen’s warm skin, “even as I stumble on the path with my eyes closed, yet I see.” He’d prayed a short verse once upon a time, when he was looking out the window of a grotty motel room, and it only seemed right to do it now. He had Cullen with him, though. He wasn’t lost anymore. He wasn’t alone. And Cullen’s light gave him at least something to navigate by when things were hard to manage. “The Light is here,” he finished, and pressed a kiss to Cullen’s skin.

And it was. It was right there.

\----

5:33 AM

_No. Not yet._

He’d set his alarm, as he always did, so he could hit snooze three times before he really had to be up. It was habit, one almost a decade old at this point, and difficult to break. Things had changed, though, since the last time he’d needed to set his alarm for this particular purpose, and as he hit the snooze button, he realized he was _awake_. Despite how late they’d stayed up, despite how thoroughly sated and exhausted he’d been when he closed his eyes what seemed like only moments ago… Cullen was wide awake.

Maybe it was the actually restful sleep he’d enjoyed most nights since Dorian had come, or maybe it was the dread that had hardened in his stomach like a rock, but there was no need to hit snooze again this time. There was also no need… or rather, no _desire_ to move from where he was laying, curled around Dorian as he was, and he felt his resolve weaken further as the man stirred, pressing closer into Cullen and nuzzling into his neck.

For one wild second, the thought _I don’t need this job. I have savings. A shit ton of savings. This is stupid - we should stay._ But no. While that was true for Cullen, Dorian was in a tight spot, and there was no way Cullen would leave Trev stranded like that. It wasn’t done.

So… _Up. Up. Get up. Count to three and just… get up._

_1… He’s so warm... 2…  And safe. Have I ever felt so safe?... 3…  Up… I can’t. Maker help me, I don’t think I can._

His body wasn’t listening. He knew it wasn’t listening because, instead of gently unwrapping himself from Dorian’s grasp as he saw himself doing in his mind, his arms redoubled their own embrace as his eyes closed and he relaxed into the feeling of skin pressed against skin.

But then… murmuring. Low. Barely there, but Cullen could hear it as sure as he felt lips moving and breath stirring against his neck. A prayer. Dorian was praying, something familiar. A verse Cullen knew almost as well as he knew himself…

_The Light is here…_

And then there were lips pressing a light kiss against his skin and Cullen breathed out, long and slow, before moving one hand up Dorian’s spine to let his fingers stroke gently through soft waves.

“For there is no darkness in the Maker’s light,” Cullen answered in tones just as hushed as Dorian’s had been, “And nothing that he has wrought shall be lost.” Scarred lips brushed kisses along Dorian’s hairline. “... and nothing will be lost. Maker help us, it’ll be ok.”

\----

These last few weeks had given an insight to Cullen’s sleeping habits, and he was surprised to hear Cullen speaking. Normally he wasn’t much but grunts and pointing before coffee, so this was an interesting change. He curled in closer, let those kisses calm him, and just closed his eyes again as he took in the feeling of Cullen breathing up against him.

“Not for a while,” Dorian muttered. A couple of months, anyway. That wasn’t that long, but time on the boat moved in weird peaks and valleys. Days were seemingly endless and then out of nowhere a week was gone. It was still longer than he wanted to deal with, though. He nuzzled in closer, tangled their legs together, and sighed.

They had to get up. Dorian had to be there to check in his equipment and he knew that Cullen had a list a mile long of things to do. Cuddling in bed until cast off time wasn’t really an option. One hand smoothed along Cullen’s side and up over the large scar on his shoulder. He rested his hand over it, brushed his thumb over the rough skin, and squeezed. One more touch. There was always time for one more touch.

He yawned, pressed a kiss against Cullen’s neck, and looked up into that handsome face, “I’ll make us some coffee,” Dorian told him, “because the longer we stay here like this, the less likely it’ll be that I’ll get up and go.”

\----

Dorian was right. At this point, Cullen knew that if they stayed there like that, the clock would tick down faster than it had any right to, and an hour would be gone in what seemed like only minutes of murmured words and soft touches. So up. He didn’t like it, but he did have to do it. He had to do it, but his body was still sluggish and not at all agreeable to it. So he took another breath to look right back at Dorian, soft smile on his lips and a slightly sad cast to his eyes, before he leaned down for a kiss that was short but so sweet. Sweet and also bitter because he knew he’d miss this, all of this, and be alone tonight. “You’re right,” he sighed, “I’m glad one of us has a little willpower, because mine seems to be lacking.”

So.. showers. Showers and coffee and getting dressed - ratty black first-day sweater pulled on over worn jeans - and bathroom things thrown into bags last minute before wheeling them out into the living room, stopping by the door to pull on coats and give the living room one last look. He always did it that way. And then there were always words, right? _See ya in a few._ That’s what he always said before he made his way out without another thought. But this time, the words didn’t come. His mouth opened, but his voice stuck and his throat refused to work, and he shook his head as he sighed, pulling on his red knit cap before squeezing Dorian’s shoulder with a wistful little smile and opening the door.

45 minutes, give or take, and Cullen was parking his pickup in his usual spot at the dock’s parking deck. The ride had been quiet, but when he’d reached speed and didn’t have to shift gears, he’d reached for Dorian’s hand, pulling it onto his lap as he tangled fingers together. They’d at least had that connection.

But now… now the engine was off, and there wasn’t anything left to do but go to the boat. “Here we are,” he sighed quietly and hunched over the steering wheel. “Here we are.”


	23. Whose Voice the Waters Heard [2 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As The Herald gets underway, Cullen and Dorian find ways to connect.

Dorian looked over at Cullen from where he’d mostly been half staring out of the windscreen. His mind had been everywhere and nowhere all at once, and it was really only the brush of Cullen’s hand that kept him moderately tethered. Of course his thoughts had all centered around something akin to ‘I don’t want to,’ but they also wandered to whether or not he ‘had’ to now. It was a job, yes. He needed the job. A job that paid money so that he could live was important. He needed this. He needed to see this through to the end. He’d signed a contract. He had to go back and tell the producers that the first season hadn’t scared him off. He had to go do all of that.

But in a minute.

“Hey,” Dorian prompted, and turned a little before he unbuckled his seatbelt so he could move a bit closer. They were rather in plain sight now, but... Cullen looked upset still. They’d had ‘last’ kisses and hugs before they’d left the house, but he couldn’t leave it at that. Not now.

One hand moved to rub over Cullen’s back, and Dorian cast a quick glance around before he bent his head and kissed the other man’s shoulder, “We’ve lived through worse,” he reminded him, “a few weeks doing what we’ve been doing... it’s not the worst thing. Then we’re done and we can figure everything out, right?” He rested his chin on Cullen’s shoulder, “and it’s not like we won’t grab time here and there. Trev has to let you lot sleep eventually.”

\----

“No, it’s not the worst thing,” Cullen began, “but it still… sucks.” He couldn’t remember the last time he used that word, but it was the only one that seemed to sum everything up. Still, that hand on his back was warm, the parking deck was quiet for the moment, and they weren’t on the boat _yet_. There was no one around, he made sure of that with a quick scan of his mirrors and a quick look cast toward the entrance, so he took a breath, tilted Dorian’s head up with gentle fingers under the man’s chin, and leaned in for a kiss. A real kiss, lips pressing against lips... softness, but there was more than a little desperation mixed in. Who knew, after all, when the next time would be?

Pulling away, Cullen took a deep breath and managed a smile as he kissed the tip of Dorian’s nose. “That’s a bit better,” he said, still wearing that little smile, “Ok, let’s do this, then... Maker, do you think we can walk together? I didn’t even think of that.”

\----

That kiss was good, and Dorian practically melted into it. It was warm and wonderful, and it helped the way his heart had been beating almost painfully hard in his chest. One hand tangled in Cullen’s hair, tugged a bit at it so the other man could feel it, and he rested his forehead against Cullen’s for a long moment. He didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want to let go, wanted Cullen to kiss him again, and Dorian sighed.

“We can walk together,” he answered after a moment, “it’s not like we have to act like we hate each other, right?” That hand in Cullen’s hair smoothed it back down, and Dorian offered a small smile in return, “just two guys going to work, right? Nothing weird about that.”

As they got out of the truck, Dorian lit up a cigarette immediately and inhaled deeply. He needed that. If he couldn’t have Cullen’s hand in his own, this would have to do.

\----

“Just two guys going to work,” Cullen chuckled to himself as he pulled up on the emergency brake and climbed out of the truck. “Right.”

He needn’t have worried too much about them walking together, though. It was still early yet, so it seemed they were amongst the first to get there. The few people they passed were still groggy from sleep and paid them no mind. They really were just two guys heading into work. Nothing more than that… and that was a sad thought. But this was where it began - the pretending, the separation… the _line_. So they walked, farther apart than they had in weeks, but it was necessary.

And then they were _there_. The Herald loomed, large and familiar, in front of them… and Cullen’s heart did jump a little for that sight. It seemed he still had a bit in him, that love for this boat, and he felt a fraction of that old electricity settle in his bones as his eyes scanned over the deck. Well, in the face of all that dread and _I don’t want to go_ , that was surprising… good, but surprising. _Maybe it won’t be so bad,_ he thought as his feet stilled before stepping onto the short gangplank. A rough hand pulled the knit cap from his head as he closed his eyes and sent up his prayer. “Dear Maker, be good to us. The sea is so wide, and our boat is so small.”

That done, the cap went right back to his head and he cut honey eyes over at Dorian with a sheepish grin. “Alright then,” he started, “I’ll, ah, just go unpack and see where things are… I imagine you have to, what? Go check in with your people?”

\----

“Yeah,” Dorian answered. He had his phone out, was scrolling through messages, and he looked back up at Cullen with a small smile. “I’ll see you in a while,” he prompted, “go find Trev and do all your little... superstitious first day things that I know you all have.”

He managed a smile, hitched his bag up onto his shoulder, but looked down at his suitcase. That... posed an interesting question. “Could you,” Dorian began, then frowned, “er, I’m not sure if I should ask, but do you mind maybe just throwing this in mine and Varric’s room? I’ll have probably three camera bags to carry back, and I could kind of use both hands.”

Grey eyes searched those honey colored ones, and Dorian tipped his head to the side, “Or I could follow you on for a minute. Either way.”

\----

_Follow me_ , was Cullen's immediate thought. It was, after all, the option that put off this goodbye for at least a little while… but that wasn't right. _This isn't goodbye. That's ridiculous,_ he thought and shook his head for it. _He'll be on the bloody boat with me._ But it still felt like a goodbye of sorts. Odd, since Dorian would be out there with him, but still true.

Realizing he must have looked a fool out there, mute when he'd been asked a simple question, Cullen put that smile back on his face and opened his mouth to answer.

“You two gettin’ on the boat, or are ya just gonna stand there all day?” A gruff voice called from behind them. “Because some of us have engines to check and hydros to test before this sorry heap sails outta here.”

“Hello to you, too, Sam,” Cullen replied as he turned to face their surly engineer. It was a wonder the man could form words this early… though the same could have been said of Cullen just a few weeks ago. “Better not let Trev hear you talk like that…”

“Yeah, all right, Rutherford,” Samson answered, then nodded in Dorian's direction, “First season didn't run you off then?”

\----

Dorian jumped a bit when Samson spoke, and he turned a bit to see the other man walk up. He hadn’t expected anyone else to see them, and Dorian immediately shouldered his bag again as he cast his glance back down at the dock. Of course someone else would interrupt them. Someone else would be interrupting them for the next however long. He should have known.

At that question, though, Dorian looked up and painted a grin on his face, “What? And miss the pleasure of your company?” he asked, “that hurts that you even have to ask.” A quick glance back up to Cullen then, and his smile turned a bit more genuine, “between the two of you, how could I say no to coming back?”

\----

Samson snorted in response and adjusted his bag. “Well, _I’m_ a fucking delight,” he answered before gesturing at Cullen. “ _This_ one, though...”

Cullen rolled his eyes and shook his head as he sighed, mostly for show. This, the banter, it was easy to fall back into. And mostly harmless. Actually, if Samson _wasn’t_ trying to get a rise out of him, he’d wonder if the man were ill. “You’re something, that’s for sure,” Cullen retorted in a dry tone, “Not sure _delight_ is the word for it, though.”

“Ass,” Samson grunted, “Nice that we run into this one first thing, right?”

\----

“Well, you two can fight over who gets first interview, then,” Dorian teased before he winked at them both, “but I want to drop this bag off before I go pick up the rest of my stuff. I’m sure you two have... something, you know, boat related to see to.”

He pushed past them both with that same smile, though his gaze caught Cullen’s for a moment and he turned to head on board. What he would have _liked_ was a moment with Cullen, maybe in his room for a kiss or something before everyone got mic-ed up, but maybe not. Probably not. It was probably stupid to think that would ever happen.

“Are you two coming?” he asked over his shoulder, “not that I mind two strapping Fereldans watching me walk away.”

Okay, so the banter was easy. They’d all built up something of a rapport during the last season, and it felt somewhat natural to fall back into it. Besides, if he flirted with everyone then maybe no one would notice him making eyes at Cullen. That needed to stop, but after a few weeks of doing _just_ that, it was going to be a hard habit to break.

\----

“Hear that? I’m _strapping_ now,” Samson chuckled with a wink and nudged Cullen with his elbow before following Dorian on board.

Cullen sighed and shook his head, just watching both of them for the moment. That little exchange had been… ok. Normal enough, anyway, and Dorian seemed like he was handling himself well. That was something, at least, though Maker only knew if _Cullen_ could keep it up… though he suspected the job would have them all too focused and exhausted to care soon enough.

Still, this hadn't exactly been how he wanted this to go. There'd been the slightest hope that maybe the boat would be empty this early, that maybe they could get in one more last kiss or just a moment of calm together before the storm hit. But that just wasn't going to happen apparently.

_Probably for the best… like ripping a band aid off._

So, he followed the two men down into the boat’s living area and down the hall that led to the bunks. For a moment, he stopped at his door, hand resting on the handle while his eyes followed Dorian as he made his way down to his own room. It didn't feel right, seeing him walk away like that without a word, but what could he do. Samson was right there and…

“Rutherford, you're spacing out,” Samson snapped. As Cullen's eyes focused on the man standing at the next door over, he didn't miss the curious look or the cocked eyebrow.

_Shit._

“Yeah, yeah. There's not enough coffee in the world for this,” Cullen returned and opened his door.

“I know what you mean, man, but what are you gonna do?”

\----

Everything was a bit of a whirlwind after setting his stuff down and going to check his equipment back out. People were already crawling all over the boat to get the cameras back in the stands and everywhere else. It was a bit of a mess, actually, and felt more than a little bit like ‘hurry up and wait’ as he went to get his equipment then get his own stuff set back up. Not to mention... and, well, maybe it was his imagination. Dorian was tired. Everyone was tired. He was probably imagining it.

Some of the producers were looking at him a bit weird. Not... angry or anything, Dorian knew what that looked like, but they were _looking_ at him. It was strange. For a second he wondered if maybe he spilled coffee on himself or something, but no. Nothing like that.

The weird feeling stuck with him on the walk back to the boat with... Maker, four huge bags. Cameras, memory cards, mics, extra everything, it weighed a ton, and Dorian grumbled as he stepped foot on deck and looked up as things were being moved around and sorted and _ugh_ , he was going to have to do interviews. But coffee first. Maker please, coffee first.

So he headed down into the galley, which was a bit more like an exercise in not getting in the way with everything he was holding, and practically ran over Alistair who was headed back out. The break had seemed to do him pretty well. He looked less tired, though everyone was tired this morning, and significantly less beaten up.

“Hey,” Dorian greeted as he pushed past him, “did you manage to sleep for the whole month?”

Alistair grinned and grabbed up one of the bags to help Dorian carry them all back to the room, “Mostly,” he answered, “what about you? Did you end up staying in town?”

“No, I…” he began, but paused. The honest answer had almost come out, and he really didn’t need that happening. “I found somewhere to crash,” Dorian went on, “it was good.”

“Yeah? Where?”

Shit.

“Oh, you know... some, uh... it was out near the forest.”

“Oh,” Alistair answered, and studied Dorian’s face, “well, that sounds... good?”

\----

Clothes unpacked and bed made, Cullen found himself just… standing. Standing and breathing and thinking, right there in the center of his room.

_When I walk out of here, I’m deck boss. For the next few months, that’s me. And he’s the cameraman. The cameraman I can be casual friends with, but that’s it. Deck boss and cameraman, and that’s all it can be._

As he stood there in thought, the commotion outside his room had picked up. Footsteps thudded up and down the hallway, and the sounds of laughter and greeting picked up. It was time - it was time to go out there and get this thing going. A sigh and then Cullen took the few steps across the floor to his door, pausing for a moment as he took a breath to center himself, squared his shoulders, and felt that mantle of responsibility slide back down around him before turning the handle and stepping out into the hall. It was time to be the _deck boss_.

Out in the galley, Cullen nodded at Alistair and Dorian in quick greeting before he turned into the little kitchenette to get coffee going. “Alistair. Dorian,” he greeted from where he was scooping grounds out into a filter. His tone was curt but not unkind. “You two have a good break, then?”

\----

Oh, but this was going to be difficult. Just to see Cullen step out like that and have his Deck Boss hat on made Dorian feel a little more isolated and a little more cold. He’d wanted at least another moment, something warm and comforting, but... sadly not. He offered a small smile, shifted his weight a bit, and shrugged.

“Sleep was good,” Dorian answered. And _oh_ how wonderful it had been.

“I think all the bruises finally went away,” Alistair teased, and grinned over at Cullen, “What about you? Did you... you know, have a good break?”

The small talk was difficult, and Dorian reached out to take the other bag from Alistair, “I’ll let you two gossip. I’ve got to get all this counted and logged so I can start on the first day stuff.”

So he headed for his and Varric’s room. He wanted to unpack at least a little bit so whenever he fell into bed later, he wouldn’t have bags all over it. Dorian hated unpacking more than he hated packing, so he grumbled his way through it. There was so much equipment for such a small space, and it rather felt like he was drowning in cables and wires and plastic until it was all mostly rearranged how he liked it and tucked away. Maker help him, but it was all fucking maddening. Things had been so simple for a while, so now it all felt entirely too complicated.

Until he opened his luggage and unpacked. The clothes and everything, they went where they’d gone before, but the sight of brown paper made him cock an eyebrow. That hadn’t been in there. Dorian wouldn’t have forgotten that. He picked it up, pressed at it with his fingers, and furrowed his brow at how the paper crinkled but whatever was in it was soft. Was it... no, he couldn’t even imagine.

He opened it, blinked a few times at the sight of grey and teal, and Dorian rubbed his fingers over it. A scarf. A scarf that was so soft and supple that Dorian wanted to press it to his face. He did. He put it to his face and inhaled the scent of Cullen’s house and the man’s skin. Dorian had watched him knit it, had figured it was something for himself or perhaps one of his sisters or something. He’d touched it, told Cullen it was nice, and now it was in his hands.

_Dorian,_

_You watched me make this, so I'm sure that lessens the surprise, but… surprise! Have a scarf. I found the yarn that first week off the boat, and it reminded me of you, so I wanted to make you something. Something to keep you warm when it gets really cold. I know how much you love the cold._

_Anyway, I know it's about to get strange and lonely, but I wanted you to know that I'll be thinking about you and these past few weeks, and I'll be smiling, even when I'm not. Part of me is always smiling these days. I wonder whose fault that is._

_But I hope you like the scarf. And that maybe it'll remind you of me… like I am here, not like I am on the boat. I know those can be different people sometimes, but even when I'm tired and hurting and frustrated because I have to act like you're not the best thing that ever happened to me… I'm still here._

_And I'm still smiling._

_Yours,_

_Cullen_

The note was... entirely too sweet. It was more than Dorian maybe deserved on top of the lovely scarf. He tucked it away with the few books he had so he could read it when he wanted to, and Dorian quickly wound the scarf around his neck. It was so soft and warm, and it reminded him so much of lounging on Cullen’s couch with the man’s head in his lap so he could scratch gently at his scalp and rub out the knots in his neck.

He pulled out his phone, smiled, and quickly pulled up Cullen’s number-

_[Text: Cullen (8: 47AM)]: Got ur package. Its beautiful._

\----

As Alistair regaled him with what he’d been up to over the break, Cullen shifted from foot to foot until the coffee was brewed and his cup was poured. Chitchat wasn’t Cullen’s strong suit, but it was better to let Alistair do all the talking for now. It was going to take a bit to get used to this, to treating Dorian like he was no more significant than any of the other guys on the boat. If he ever got used to it at all, that was. It smarted a bit, being so… short with Dorian and seeing him walk away like that.

But work… work would help. Once they really got going, there’d be less time to think, less time to want much more than a little sleep and rest. Or at least, that was the hope.

“Alright, kid,” Cullen said after his coffee was mixed and ready to go in a thermos, “Let’s you and me go up and see what needs to be done, ok?”

The two men walked back up out onto the deck, and Cullen managed to take in a lungful of air laced with salt from the sea. It was bracing and cold, and just what he needed to get his head on straight.

“I’m the same age as you, you know,” Alistair grumbled, closing the door behind him and catching up with Cullen. 

“What?”

“I’m the same age as you… you all keep calling me _kid_ , but I’m older than Barris,” Alistair answered petulantly.

“I don’t…” Cullen replied, shaking his head and setting his thermos down next to the hydro controls before turning to face Alistair.

“You _just_ did! Two minutes ago. Downstairs,” the greenhorn insisted, hands gesturing sharply at the door they just left. “You said, ‘ _Alright kid.’_ Remember?”

“No, that can’t be right... doesn’t sound familiar,” Cullen chuckled. He remembered, of course he remembered… but right now, he found that this little bit of a tease was actually… helping. That chuckle became a laugh as Alistair regarded him with wide eyes and a slack mouth in disbelief, and Cullen slapped him on the shoulder before relenting. “Ok, I hear you. No more kid, kid.”

But then Cullen’s phone was vibrating in his back pocket. _Probably Mia_ , he thought as he held one finger up to Alistair and pulled his phone out.

But it wasn’t Mia. It wasn’t Mia at all. It seemed that Dorian got Cullen’s present… which meant he also got that note. The smile on Cullen’s face turned softer and his eyes warmed and crinkled at the edges with affection before he could control it. Indeed, he could only manage to pull that back just a touch as his fingers tapped out a response.

_[Text: Dorian (8:48AM)]: Glad you like it. I figure if I can’t keep you warm… you might need something._

He thought for a second before sending another message.

_[Text: Dorian (8:49AM)]: Wish we’d had more time._

Cullen looked up from his phone just in time to catch the raised eyebrow and curious expression on Alistair’s face.

“Someone special?” the greenhorn teased.

“Something like that,” Cullen grunted and jammed his phone back into his pocket before wandering eyes caught Dorian’s name on his phone.

\----

It took a little bit of doing, but Dorian got his camera and his coat and his new scarf and was ready to head out on deck. Interviews, first shots, establishing shots, all that kind of thing was going on in lists in his head. He had lists of lists actually. Lists and lists and then his phone buzzed.

Cullen.

Dorian smiled as he weaved his way back up onto the deck. The messages were... Maker, they made him smile like a goofy idiot. If anyone saw it, and really saw it, he’d be humiliated. _Dorian Pavus_ did _not_ grin like _that_. He didn’t get sappy and smiley and all that kind of nonsense over anyone he didn’t. He never had. Until now.

_[Text: Cullen (9:05AM)]: Its early yet. Maybe a clandestine trip below deck to ‘get something’ from rooms? I can meet u in urs. Play a bit like teenagers trying not to get caught?_

It was a little stupid and immature, and he knew it, but it would be a bit of fun. This texting wasn’t so bad either. No one would know who they were talking to, after all, and it was nice to use while they still had signal.

_[Text: Cullen (9:07AM)]: Also ur note was very sweet. It makes me happy to know u were thinking of me._

Then he went out on deck, did his best not to let his gaze linger too long on Cullen, and set to wandering around to see if the land crew needed help putting cameras back up or with testing, or if he could just jump right in with what he needed to do. Talking to the others would do wonders to cover his little looks and smiles, after all, and he waved a greeting over at where Trev and now Varric were chatting at the bottom of the ladder that led to the wheel house.

\----

Alistair was talking. Something about wanting to toss the hook at some point this season, about how he’d been practicing, and while that was an entertaining thought - _how exactly had he been practicing?_ \- Cullen’s attention was focused first on _not_ immediately grabbing his phone when he felt it buzzing in his pocket, and second, on keeping a straight face when he saw that Dorian had come on deck wearing that scarf. He couldn’t quite keep it in check, and one corner of his mouth curled up as his insides warmed for the sight. Dorian liked it. He liked it and he was wearing it. But now was hardly the time for making eyes and moony smiles.

“So, what do you think? Can I?” Alistair asked expectantly.

“Hmm? Oh, the hook? Sure, ki… Alistair. Long as the weather’s good,” Cullen answered, hoping that the greenhorn was oblivious to how tuned out he’d been there for a moment. This really couldn’t continue. It couldn’t, but they were still docked and the real work hadn’t started yet so maybe… “Hang out here for a second, would you? I need to… do something, then we’ll talk to Trev and get going.”

He left Alistair by the hydro controls and ducked into the ready room, phone in hand, to read what was surely a return message from Dorian.

_[Text: Dorian (9:15AM)]: You are a bad man. We’ve only been on board an hour and a half, you know. Some of us are trying to work here._

He’d only just hit send when he heard a familiar voice from his left, so close it made him jump. Cullen turned to see Varric and Trev almost at his elbow, Alistair standing a bit off to the side.

“I wasn’t aware you had a cell phone, Curly,” the dwarf said with a grin, “Or that you knew what texting was.”

“I always just assumed you had one of those rotary deals,” Trev agreed with an easy smile, “Don’t let us interrupt you with all this pesky _work_ … go on.”

_Great,_ Cullen thought as he was reminded once again that this was a dangerous game they were playing at, he and Dorian. A dangerous game that Cullen was already fumbling at. Docked or not, it seemed that things were already in play… and he really needed to get it together.

“No, no,” he said and quickly stuffed the phone back into his pocket, “I’m done… I imagine the storage units need unloading first, yes?”

“You know they do,” Trev responded, brows furrowed in more than a little confusion. It was a silly question, after all. Cullen knew as well as Trev did what needed to be done before they left. It was… rare that the deck boss asked. He usually just… did. “Blackwall and Barris are belowdecks unpacking. Grab them and get going. Sooner the better, you know.”

\----

And Cullen was talking to Alistair, but he hadn’t missed that little smile on Cullen’s face. As he passed them, one hand moved to the end of the scarf and he playfully waved it in their direction. Maybe it was a bit more overt than he should have been, but still. Then his phone was buzzing again, and he snorted a little when he looked down. An hour and a half indeed. But was that so bad?

_[Text: Cullen (9:23PM)]: Tell me that tonight when everyones in bed. I could sneak in ur room for something to tide us over for the next few weeks u know. ;)_

Oh, it was bad, but he didn’t mind. It put a smile on his face, and as he wandered around the deck, talked to everyone and started setting up his establishing shots, he _almost_ forgot how his stomach was rolling a bit. It wasn’t as bad as it had been the first time, but the longer he was on the boat the more he was feeling it. Ugh, he hadn’t missed that.

There were enough people milling around to hold his attention, though, and he turned to head up the little ladder that led up to the wheelhouse and the top level of the boat. Dorian hefted his camera, panned it over the deck, and adjusted it a little more so he could zoom in on the pots that were just starting to get stacked. The others weren’t out, so there wasn’t much to do for that, but he liked this angle. He’d have to remember it.

The wind picked up then, cut through the layers he wore like and knife and Dorian huddled in a little more on himself. He could have done with some of that coffee, actually, but he was trying to find his angles now. When they were off and he was sick, he’d want to be able to recall the places he’d picked, after all.

It was, sadly enough, time to go to work.

\----

Storage units full of lines, buoys, bait bags and other various fishing gear were unloaded. Bait was hauled on board. Pots were well on their way to being stacked. Strategies were hashed and rehashed. The Herald was coming alive.

In short, everything that always happened was happening, but this time it felt different. The work was getting done, and for the most part, Cullen maintained the outward appearance of professionalism where Dorian was concerned. But it was still different. To Cullen, yes, of course it was different, but everyone else could feel it, too. The change in the deck boss was almost tangible. The guys raised eyebrows and exchanged silent looks when Cullen’s attention was turned elsewhere, wondering at the lack of orders barked perfunctorily and the presence of his cell phone of all things. He’d managed to resist checking it each time it buzzed, waiting until there was a lull in the work to read and respond, but it was still there. It was still a distraction. It was noticed.

At the end of that first day’s work, when everyone else had gone below to the galley for dinner and rest, Trev called Cullen up into wheelhouse. The topic of conversation had been the boat’s current financial crisis - still bleak but hopeful assuming this season was good - but there was also the feeling that the captain was trying to feel Cullen out. Maker, it had only been one day of prep, and Cullen really wasn’t doing so well, if the curiosity in Trev’s face was anything to go by. They were shipping out tomorrow afternoon - he had to do better. He would do better.

That didn’t stop him from checking for the latest message from Dorian as he stepped out of the wheelhouse and headed back downstairs to grab a late dinner. The guys were all excited to be back, so they stayed out in the galley far too late, shooting the shit and catching up… which was their usual, so Cullen really shouldn’t have been as disappointed as he was when he couldn’t grab even a few moments alone with Dorian.

\----

They hadn’t even left the dock yet and already Dorian was tired and sore and a little bit sick. He’d thought ahead, stuck on one of his seasickness patches, and made it a point to at least put something in his stomach despite how it grumbled for the effort. That and some water. Lots of water. He’d be sick with it later, but it was better to have it now than not at all. Everyone was a bit loud, a bit rowdy, and while that didn’t really make him feel better, he dealt with it until everyone retired to bed.

And then... the trip. It was eighteen hours from Gwaren to the grounds they’d be fishing in, and Dorian could swear he could feel every single hour. The further out they got the worse he felt until the rolling of the boat got to be way too much. He was up and down, sick and feeling like he was _going_ to be sick. It was fucking terrible. Everything made him feel miserable from the smell of the boat to the sound of Varric snoring to the roll of the waves and it was fucking awful.

So he sat up, watched Cullen and Trev trade shifts for wheel watch, and some time after Cullen had disappeared upstairs he’d gotten up to grab a notebook and a pen. Their phones were outside useable service now, so there wouldn’t be any more texting until they came back into town, but... Cullen had left him that note. And what were notes but the text message of yore, right? He wrote him one, short and sweet-

_Cullen,_

_I think this might have to serve as our way to talk now, since I don’t think either one of us are going to be terribly good about not smiling too much. And it’s rather romantic, don’t you think? I’ve never exchanged love letters before, not like this anyway, and it would be nice to have something every now and then when things get dark and cold and terrible._

_You’re smiling so much these days, you know. Alistair was wondering if maybe you met some lady fair that might have sent you some fan mail over the break. I don’t think he got the joke when I was smiling about it. But yours is such a lovely smile. I hope it sticks around._

_Write me when you can.  
~D_

He’d snuck off to Cullen’s room, folded the paper, and tucked it under a pair of gloves that were sitting on the bed with just enough of it sticking out so the man would see it. To anyone else it might have just been some notes, a to-do list perhaps, but they would know better. It was sweet and romantic, and something they both might have needed during all this.

Hours later when Trev called them all to muster on deck to get things started, Dorian trudged out into the galley. He was certainly sick now, had been sick several times already, and was pitching rather unsteadily as he watched the others get coffee and breakfast. The sight of it was enough to make him feel ill again, and he reached out one flannel covered arm to rest against the wall as he tried to get a handle on his system, so they could start this nonsense.

\----

All the set up was done and they were on their way. The work had gone smoothly, and Cullen felt… ok. For the most part, anyway, though he’d been riding an odd roller coaster of highs and lows. He’d been, on the whole, far more friendly with the crew. Cullen didn’t miss the bewildered looks from the men once he started watching for them, but none of them said anything… maybe for fear of breaking the spell. Well, none of them with the exception of Samson, who’d walked right up after Cullen used the word _please,_ and placed a clammy hand over his forehead. “Just checkin’ to see if you maybe caught somethin’,” the engineer had grumbled before Barris shushed him violently.

Cullen just chuckled. It was all he could do.

But, even with the fact that maybe he was being just a little nicer than he was normally wont to, there was still a sadness there. The texts with Dorian had stopped a few miles off shore, so now he felt completely cut off from the man. It wasn’t that he avoided Dorian, it wasn’t like before, but they were rarely in the same place at the same time… and when they were, all Cullen could do was worry about him getting sick again, because of course he was getting sick again, and feel a little sick himself that he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

So there had been ups and downs. He imagined there would be many more of those crests and valleys before this trip was over.

Cullen spent part of that first wheel watch reading over all the texts they’d sent one another, even those first ones from nearly a month ago, and then trying to center himself. Trying to find that part of him that had come so naturally years before - the hardened, aloof deck boss. Even if he didn’t feel like it any more, he wanted to at least try to _seem_ normal. He wanted to do the job and do it right. He wanted to make sure everyone was safe. But for the life of him, he just didn’t know if he could. At least, not the same way he’d always done it.

Well, everything else had changed… didn’t it make sense that this part of him would be different, too? Maybe he just needed to find a new way. Maybe he just needed to be a different kind of deck boss.

Either way, the season was about to really start. Trev had called everyone together in the galley to do just that.

“Alright, you lot. We’re about to start dropping lines, but first… you all know what you have to do…” Trev started once everyone was in the little galley and had their coffee.

“You mean we get to knock a metric fuck ton of ice off The Herald’s arse,” Blackwall grunted from where he stood with his arms crossed, a sour look on his face. The ice… that was, undeniably, the worst part of this second season.

As Trev and the rest of the crew went back and forth about safety and why in the world they hadn’t found a better way to de-ice the boat after all these years, Cullen let his eyes… drift. They slid over each man in that galley, saw the resigned looks on their faces, before they settled on Dorian. It was just for a moment, but he really couldn’t help it. The man was looking ill, that was no surprise, and Cullen wondered what he could do about that, if anything. His eyes then moved to take in the rest of the man, and his eyebrows raised in slight shock for just a moment before his face settled into a smirk.

_That little… he stole one of my shirts. He’s standing there in this galley in my shirt, and I can’t say a damn thing. Maker help me, he did this on purpose._

After Trev broke off the little meeting and everyone went their own way to bundle up for the cold, Cullen caught Dorian’s eye and just shook his head before he went down the hall to his room to grab his own cold weather gear.

And there it was… he saw it was he reached for his gloves. A slip of paper where there shouldn’t be one, right there on the bed. A quick movement and he had the paper in hand, unfolded, eyes soaking in the flowing script and sweet words written across its surface. A wide grin spread across his face and he felt heat on his cheeks. Maybe… maybe he didn’t have to be so cut off from Dorian after all. This… these _love letters_ , as Dorian called them - and, oh, Cullen wondered hard about that choice of phrasing - maybe they would work. Maybe they would make things less “dark and cold and terrible.”

But there wasn’t time for a reply, not right now and not for quite some time. Work had to be done, so he tucked his new treasure under the stack of socks in his drawer, and went back out into the bitter cold on deck.

Except it wasn’t quite so bitter, and Cullen commenced the back-breaking work of de-icing with only a sledge hammer and elbow grease… smiling.

“What’s with the grin, Rutherford?” Samson grumbled when he caught Cullen’s eye. “Ain’t nothing about this to be fucking happy about.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Cullen replied as he swung his hammer down.

\----

Maker, but it was so fucking cold. He had on as many layers as he dared without inhibiting his movement, but it was still bitterly cold. Nothing helped it. It was wind and sea spray and the fucking _ice_. Those hours traveling had made it thicker than Dorian had ever seen ice on anything. It was like a blanket that covered the entire boat. He frowned, flexed his hands in his gloves, and tried to focus on... literally anything that _wasn’t_ how cold or sick he was.

The rolling of the boat was fucking terrible, and somehow the sight of the ice on everything made it brighter and more acute. Dorian took a breath, tried to get it together, but a moment later he was running for the side and very nearly slipped as he got to the rail. He gagged, vomited, and clutched hard at the ice cold metal of the rail. Already it was bad. So, so bad, and the already loud deck for the water and engine was punctuated by irregular thudding and clanging as the crew started knocking at all the ice with whatever they could find. He’d have a headache soon, he knew it, and he gagged again.

“Three minutes!” Samson called from where he was picking at the ice on the launcher, “Varric owes me ten!”

“Shit!” Barris grumped, “he looked better this time. I was thinking he’d last at least ten.”

Dorian groaned, “Making bets on my misery already?” he asked, “Fucking cruel. I’m already dying.”

“You are not,” Barris laughed, “and I would have gotten that ten if you’d busted your ass, too.”

Again, Dorian just groaned and rested his cheek against the railing. He squeezed his eyes shut as a wave broke and the spray hit him full in the face, which only made it that much worse. “I hate all of you,” he said, “no respect for a dying man.”

\----

And just like that, the smile was off his face, and Cullen had to fight the urge to just go grab the ailing man at the rails to usher him indoors where it was warm and make him some tea. Or something. Anything. Once upon a time, this display would have made Cullen grit his teeth and roll his eyes, but now… now it just made his heart heavy to have to watch.

“Alright guys, back at it. Leave the man to die in peace,” he called from where he stood at the hydro controls. “Though I suspect he's _not_ dying and will be just fine.”

And that was it. The entirety of what Cullen could do out here under the watchful eyes of crew and cameras. Much as he'd like to, he couldn't so much as rub Dorian's back while he was getting sick without raising more eyebrows. _Wonderful._

This was going to be even harder than he thought.

But the banging and smashing of ice finally came to a close, and Cullen was satisfied with the responsiveness in the hydros that controlled the crane arm, so that was something. There was about a half hour before they'd reach their grounds and start the business of launching pots, so everyone took off down to the galley to soak up what little heat they could get before the first long grind began. Cullen dared to catch Dorian's eye and offer a wan smile as he moved past everyone to his room. There was something he wanted to do. A note he wanted to reply to.

Twenty minutes later, and he found himself checking the hallway and sneaking down to Dorian's room, creeping like he was doing something wrong. He stuck the folded piece of paper under the pillow with the corner just sticking out. Hopefully, Dorian would find it… Cullen didn't have time to find a more clever place.

_Dorian,_

_While I'd much prefer not having to slip notes like this… it does have its charms. I was glad to see yours, in any case. I won't lie, there may have been some grinning on my part as I read it._

_But you're getting sick now, and that's just… I'm sorry. I can't take it away, no matter how much I want to. I said I'd make you that tea once, didn't I? I still will, but I just don't know when. It's easy - just mince up a teaspoon or so of ginger… I asked them to get some fresh… peel it first, though. Then let it sit in a cup of boiling water for 3 minutes or so and add honey if it's too bitter. That might help some. I want to do more. I wish I could. You deserve more than this cold boat and being sick. You deserve someone who can stand by you, and I'm sorry I'm not that right now._

_After… after this season is over, I'm coming clean with my people. Damn the consequences. I need you more than I need this job._ _I already miss you, even though you're right there. Is that strange?_

_Take care of yourself._

_Yours,_

_Cullen_

_Also, for the record, Alistair isn't wrong. I do get loads of... amorous fan letters. But yours are the only letters I want. The ones I'll keep and read when things get harder._

\----

It was miserable. It was cold and loud and terrible and Dorian had known it would be, but he hadn’t _known_. Of course he’d listened to Cullen, had seen the show, but he’d never felt cold like that before. It was maddeningly cold. It was so cold he could hardly focus on anything but the cold, which ironically helped him from feeling too sick, and he just... ugh, it was awful.

What wasn’t awful, however, were the little notes he and Cullen had been leaving each other. Every time he saw that little peek of paper tucked under his pillow or under a coat Dorian felt a thrill. Cullen was interminably sweet. He was kind and romantic, and Dorian always trailed his cold fingers over the neat print of Cullen’s handwriting. The fact that he, tired and busy as he was, took the time to write these meant the world to Dorian. It gave them some closeness, gave them an outlet, and it helped Dorian not feel so alone. The others were great, of course they were, but those notes meant so much to him.

The day stretched into _days_ , like they had a habit of doing on The Herald, and Dorian did his best to film and interview despite the cold and activity on deck. They were on good numbers, it seemed, and spirits were high. The crew cheered, laughed and made jokes as they worked. It made things a lot better, made them more likely to talk, and Dorian was allowed to get up a bit more close because they were in good moods.

After a few hours of sleep, though, Dorian felt... well, as refreshed as he was going to feel. The seasickness didn’t feel _as_ bad as it did the first trip out, but that wasn’t saying much. He could function, though, as opposed to not being able to at all like he’d been the first time. There was still running and being sick, but it wasn’t near as often or as violent. So that was something. It gave him a bit more energy to work with, and before long he started picking over some of those ideas for angles that he’d started working on before they left.

Which was about where he was now. The crew was grabbing and setting pots from one side of the stack, so Dorian hefted his camera onto his shoulder and set to climbing up on the other side. They were still icy, though not as bad as before, and Alistair and Blackwall were already up there. Blackwall gave him a hand up, and he grinned as he grabbed up the camera and set to filming them up closer so he could see them chipping the ice away from the chains. It was a good look, as was the other angle of the others on deck, and he genuinely felt pretty good about it.

Well, other than the look that he knew was Cullen’s stare at the side of his face. He didn’t need to look over to know the man was staring at him. So he didn’t look over. If he did, there’d have to be something like a stupid wave to prove he was alright, and that wouldn’t go down so well. Instead, he bent down and tried to get a bit of a better shot of Alistair hooking the pot to the crane hook, and Dorian was so focused that he didn’t quite brace himself as the boat rolled.

“Shit!” he yelped as the roll sent him to his knees for how his feet slipped on the ice. Dorian didn’t fall, thank the Maker, but it did startle him, and he grinned up at the other two as they laughed.

“Yeah, good on you,” Blackwall laughed, “no splattered Tevinter on the deck today.”

“Maybe you should wrap a line on you?” Alistair offered.

Dorian waved a hand, “No need,” he answered, “I’d probably trip over that anyway. This is fine. I’m fine. Just wasn’t prepared.”

Alistair chuckled, then cast a glance back down on the deck, “Yeah, except you’re about to get an earful, I think,” he pointed out as Cullen was already walking over to the stack.

\----

“Looks like someone's getting brave,” Cullen heard Barris chuckle as he and Samson finished baiting and closing up the pot on the launcher.

“Oh, yeah,” Samson answered, “Looks like sickie ain't so sick anymore.” He smacked the top of the pot to signal that it was ready, but Cullen's attention was elsewhere. _Sickie_ could only mean one person, and if he was getting brave, that meant…

_Maker help me. He wants me to die of a heart attack._

“... Cullen? Cullen!” Barris’s voice came again.

“Hmm? What?” Cullen answered, though his eyes remained focused on where Dorian had climbed to the top of the stack.

“Captain signalled. Launch her already, man,” Samson grumbled and shook his head with a bit of exasperation.

“Right, sorry,” Cullen answered as he hit the buttons that flipped the pot over the side. Barris heaved the lines over the edge, and that was that. Pot successfully set.

_He’ll be fine. He’ll be ok. Calm down… Blackwall and Alistair’re up there with him._

A breath to steady him, and Cullen forced himself to get ready for the next drop. Almost as soon as Cullen's fingers moved to the crane controls to retrieve the pot the men on the stack had hooked up, however, the boat lurched to the side. It wasn't too bad, but it was hard enough for Cullen to stumble forward, and as he caught himself, he turned his eyes once again to the top of the stack… to see Dorian go down. From where Cullen stood, the man just vanished. One second, he was there and stumbling, and the next his head disappeared below the top of the pots.

_Fuckfuckfuck_

Acting without thought, he took off across the deck, heart pounding in his throat as he did. He strained his ears, dreading the call of _man overboard_ , but listening for it anyway. What he heard, though, was _laughter._ Blackwall and Alistair’s... and then Dorian's laugh joined them. Relief washed over him, followed by a spike of peevish anger as he drew up to the base of the stack. He'd been scared Dorian had gotten hurt or worse… and they were up there laughing. An odd mix of worry and fear and that touch of anger painted his face as he looked up the stack.

“Hey,” he called up. It came out short and a little strangled, so he cleared his throat to try again. “Hey,” he repeated, louder and more clear this time. “Are you ok up there?”

The laughter told him they were… _Dorian_  was… but Cullen had to make sure first.

\----

Dorian popped his head over the side and lowered the camera, “Mostly,” he answered, “my pride might be a little bruised, but what else is new?” He was practically lying on the pots now, and Dorian folded his arms so he was almost lounging. It was a bit stupid, and he knew that, but he couldn’t help it. Grey eyes looked down at Cullen, and he managed a small smile. It wasn’t the private, warm one he might have given if they were alone though. Dorian wasn’t quite that stupid.

“Having a nap, then?” Blackwall asked as he nudged Dorian’s knee with his foot, “but I guess so long as you don’t chuck all over the pots that’s better than nothing.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” he answered, “Maker, you throw up on yourself once and no one seems to forget it.”

\----

Cullen’s teeth ground and his jaw worked as the men above him bantered back and forth. His expression was strained, eyes focused on Dorian and Dorian alone as he raised one hand to rub roughly over his face. Dorian was ok - he wasn’t in the water and he wasn’t hurt… but Cullen’s heart was still pounding for those fearful, uncertain moments when Dorian was out of sight and Cullen just _didn’t know_. 

There was just… so much he wanted to say. _That scared me. I was worried you went over. If anything happened to you, I don't think I could handle it. Be safe. You have to be safe. Please._ All that was in his eyes as he finally exhaled sharply.

“As long as you're fine,” Cullen answered in tense, clipped tones, “... though I'd say the _deck_ is safer than 30 feet _above_ it with _this,_ ” and here he gestured to the choppy, frozen seas that surrounded them before his hands fell to his sides, “all around us.” _Just come down. Please just come down from there._

\----

“You never let me have any fun, you know,” Dorian half pouted, though he did carefully start to make his way down, “it’s always ‘stay out of my circle’,” ‘stop climbing on things,’ and ‘don’t get in the way.’” He was smiling slightly. Teasing. He was teasing. He was teasing like any of the others might tease him, and like they would if they were friends.

When he was both feet on the deck, Dorian lifted one hand in much the same way he had in that mill: _ta dah_. Safe. He was down and safe and Cullen was looking at him with those worried eyes. “I wouldn’t go up there without someone else,” he promised more gently, “okay?”

\----

“It’s not… Maker, it’s not funny,” Cullen said, low and hoarse in tones the men above couldn’t hear. “I couldn’t _see_ you when you went down and I thought you might’ve…” One hand reached for Dorian before he caught himself and lowered it, swallowing the rest of his words down as he shook his head. _Get it together. It’s fine. He’s fine. He just fell._

With a great deal of effort, effort that anyone who was looking close enough could see, Cullen slipped back into his role as deck boss before he spoke again. “It’s not my job to make sure you have fun, you know. What _is_ my job is catching crab and making sure you lot get back alive and mostly intact, though, so…” He was speaking louder, for the benefit of those above, and shrugged. “... a little more care and a little less climbing on ice when you don’t have to.”

His voice was stern, but his eyes were still pleading. Cullen had fallen from the stack before, but he’d been very, very lucky. Out here, with the boat steaming ahead full throttle… Dorian wouldn’t have been. And that… well that was too horrible to contemplate.

\----

He frowned. There had been the hope that maybe the joking might have helped. Apparently not. Dorian took a breath, licked his lips, and carefully lowered the camera. Cullen was going to be on his case regardless of their own personal situation, he had a feeling, and while he appreciated the concern... he knew what he was doing. Mostly.

“Only a few theatrics,” Dorian murmured, low enough that it was hardly audible over the noise of the deck. He’d said that not long ago, and still meant it. He took a breath and nodded, “Nothing too dangerous,” he promised a little louder, “okay?”

“Oh, leave him alone, Rutherford,” Samson groused, “he’s fine. You’re going to get your blood pressure up if you let every little thing get to you again.”

That earned a bit of a laugh and Blackwall’s head poked over the side, “Yeah, we don’t need a retread of you two squabbling. Now shake hands and make up, would you?”

\----

_Right, as if falling off the stack is a little thing. Sure, Samson. Thanks for the perspective._

Cullen shot a sharp look over at Samson and pursed his lips. More than anything, after a fright like that, he wanted to have the freedom to pull Dorian into his arms just to prove that he was ok… but this audience and the cameras aimed at the deck made sure that couldn’t happen. On top of that, everyone apparently thought he was being a mother hen - joking at his expense and suggesting that he was overreacting. And maybe he was, but Maker damn it, every single one of them knew that shit could go south without warning.

Still tense, still shaking a little for the spurt of adrenaline that had shot into his blood, Cullen held his right hand out. At least Blackwall had given him an excuse for this much contact. “Fine. If it’ll make you all feel better…”

\----

It seemed, in Blackwall’s way, that they’d been granted that chance to touch. They’d been told to, after all. So Dorian extended his hand, but made sure his fingertips brushed Cullen’s palm just gently before his hand wrapped around that offered one. “I won’t do that in weather like this again,” he offered, “calmer seas. Deal?”

\----

Amber eyes blinked slowly as Dorian took his hand. That one touch was enough to make Cullen’s chest ache a bit. It had been days… or was it a full week now?... since they’d been able to so much as talk without others around, let alone touch one another. All they’d had were those notes, and while they were sweet and funny and completely heart warming, they were also a poor substitute for what they’d had before. So, yes, Cullen squeezed a little tighter than was prudent, let it linger longer than was strictly necessary, and looked into Dorian’s eyes with an intensity that would have been dangerous had anyone been close enough to see before reluctantly pulling his hand back, nodding, and turning on his heels to head back to his spot near the controls.

“Show’s over… we’ve got pots to set and launch,” he announced as he went. And they did. For hours, they worked until every pot was in the water. For the most part, Cullen was focused, but every so often, he caught himself tracking Dorian wherever he went on deck. And later, when they were all resting while the pots soaked and The Herald was heading back to the head of their set of strings, Cullen stole away to his room to gather himself… and write just two sentences to leave for Dorian.

_I’m sorry. I was scared._

\----

When he found those two lines, after a quick wash in the bathroom so he could maybe sleep and not feel so gross, Dorian quickly cast his gaze around. Varric was in the bathroom now, probably washing up after a few long hours in the nicely heated wheelhouse, but everyone else had dropped off to sleep. So he quickly gathered up his notebook and wrote a reply:

_Don’t apologize. I’m not upset. Honestly, I’m glad you came over after that. My heart was pounding a bit. I’m just sorry I scared you. And I meant what I said: not much of that in choppy water. Railings only unless it’s calm. Okay?_

_Try to rest as best you can. ~D_

Note finished, Dorian quickly made his way to Cullen’s door. The light was still on, so hopefully he was still awake. He knocked twice, not loudly enough to wake anyone else, and he waited for a second before calling softly, “Cullen?” he asked, “Are you up?”

\----

Restless. He was always restless, but right now, it was worse. Cullen knew he really should be sleeping - there was precious little time before they’d be up and at it again - but he just couldn’t. So he found himself lying in bed wearing a pair of sweat pants and a white t shirt, reading through the little notes he’d received in the past several days and fighting that vague sense of things just not being _right_. Done. He just wanted to be done with this season and with this hiding. It was exhausting, and he wasn’t particularly good at it, to boot.

At least they’d been pulling some pretty remarkable numbers so far… if that kept up, they’d be done in record time. That was something, but it wasn’t enough.

The knock at his door was a surprise; even more so, the familiar voice that followed. Cullen padded the few steps to the door to open it. Dorian. There was the urge to just pull the man in and close the door behind him, but Cullen didn’t know where anyone was and just… he couldn’t risk it, could he? _Fuck_.

“I’m up, though I shouldn’t be,” he answered quietly, “What can I, ah, do for you?”


	24. Whose Voice the Waters Heard [3 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The producers bring Dorian a proposal and Cullen reacts to things overheard.

_Make something up and make it sound convincing. No one’s up, but do it anyway._

“I was watching back some footage from today, and your mic sounded a little garbled,” Dorian answered, “can I check it? Just to see if it needs to be swapped out?” Grey eyes gestured inside, “So I don’t have to ask you to get up earlier when you have to head back out.”

He tipped his head to the side and lifted a hand to show the folded piece of paper in his palm, “Please?”

\----

Cullen blinked twice and then smiled. “Sure… let me just get it,” he answered, and turned to grab the pack from where it sat on his nightstand. When he handed it to Dorian, he palmed the piece of paper that had been in Dorian’s hand, and it was his turn to let his fingers trail over the man’s hand, wrist to fingertips. Again, just that little touch affected him, making his stomach flutter and his face heat. Again, he had to fight the urge to just pull the man into his room and be done with it. Maker he had it bad. What was the phrase? Head over heels, or something like that, anyway. It seemed accurate for the way Dorian made Cullen’s head spin. “I probably broke the damn thing. Sorry,” he said, easily enough, and moved closer. Too close, strictly speaking, since he could smell the cologne Dorian wore and feel the man’s body heat. Maddening… it was maddening to be so close and not touch.

\----

That brush of fingers made him smile, and Dorian made a bit of a show of looking over the mic pack. It was perfectly fine, they both knew it was, and in a rather rash decision Dorian lifted his gaze to meet Cullen’s eyes, “Uh,” he began, and cast a glance back down the hallway. No one was up. No one was out. Varric would probably in the bathroom for a while.

He turned back to Cullen and quickly shuffled them back into the room. Just as quickly, Dorian shut the door behind them and gently tossed the mic pack onto the bed. The rooms weren’t big and those things were sturdier than they looked. “Come here,” he growled softly, and reached a hand out to tangle in Cullen’s shirt so he could pull him close and kiss him for a moment.

They’d get maybe one chance like this every trip, and Dorian wasn’t about to lose the opportunity.

\----

_Oh, sweet Maker, yes._

In a moment not unlike that first kiss, Cullen lost himself a little and pushed. He pushed until Dorian’s back was against the door and Cullen could press in more fully against the man as his hands moved up, over his chest, up his neck, and into his hair. All that restlessness and tension from before just melted away with the warmth of Dorian’s lips on his own, and Cullen moaned softly for the feeling of release. This was just what he needed, but he was greedy and wanted more. He’d always want more where Dorian was concerned.

The sound of heavy footsteps outside the door brought him back, though. These walls were thin, Cullen knew, and he held his breath until whoever it was passed by. Taking a deep breath, Cullen smiled and one thumb gently stroked Dorian’s cheek - rough with stubble now for the days on the boat. “Maker,” he murmured, “I’ve missed this. You. Hardly fair, is it?”

\----

That kiss was so good. Perfect. It had felt like ages since they’d last kissed, and Dorian _needed_ it. He needed it so much. He needed Cullen so much. He needed that warmth and affection and those warm hands on his skin. Dorian curled his arms around Cullen’s neck and kissed him back just as deeply. It soothed him. Everything that had felt so terrible suddenly seemed far less bad.

And then... footsteps.

Dorian just breathed against Cullen’s mouth as they listened. He ran one hand through Cullen’s hair, took in the softness of it at his fingers, and as those footsteps faded he sighed and pressed his cheek into Cullen’s hand. Just that touch alone made him feel so good. He chuckled a little for Cullen’s words, then turned to kiss the man’s thumb, “This makes it tolerable,” he answered, then smiled again, “so do the notes.” His voice was quiet, almost like a whisper, and he leaned up for another kiss.

“I don’t want to stay too long,” Dorian told him, “I mean... I _do_ , but you know what I mean. That was probably Varric.” The hand in Cullen’s hair moved to cup his cheek and Dorian leaned up on his toes to kiss Cullen again, “I just had to see you for a second. And give you that.”

\----

A shaky inhale and a long exhale, and Cullen nodded before moving in for another kiss. They didn't have enough time for everything Cullen wanted to say or do, but then again, maybe they never would. But one last kiss, surely there was time for that. Cullen moved in again to press lips together, but this one was slower, sweeter than the first. Sweet and wonderful, but it hurt a little, too. Longing for what they couldn't have, not right now, colored it with a bittersweet hue.

He wanted Dorian to stay. To curl up with him on the bed and drift off with him until work called again, which was all too soon, but at least that would be something. Even that much, though, was out of the question. Even now, Cullen suspected, Dorian's absence would be noted. The clock had ticked down to zero, and their brief time together had to come to an end.

So he pulled away, though that alone was misery, and kissed just above one dark eyebrow before he nodded again. “I'm… I'm glad you came by. And for the notes, too, but… I needed _this_ , you know?” One hand raised then to tuck a few loose hairs back into place before drawing his thumb over the fresh crop of stubble on Dorian's cheek. “You're getting scruffy,” he commented fondly with a soft chuckle and a little grin. “I like it.” And then that little smile melted into something more serious as Cullen sighed. “But I'm procrastinating. You should… you should go. Before Varric gets any ideas." 

\----

All those touches had him melting on the inside, and even though Dorian _hated_ the fact that he needed a shave... he rather liked the feeling of Cullen’s fingers rubbing over what scruff he had. It felt nice. Cullen’s hands on him felt so nice. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to slink back to his room alone. He wanted more kisses and touches until they slept. 

Sadly not.

“You _would_ like this,” he laughed softly before he leaned up and kissed Cullen again. Dorian couldn’t go. Not yet. His arms tightened around Cullen’s neck, and he nipped at the other man’s lower lip for a moment before he just rested his head on Cullen’s chest. “Just hug me for a little bit,” he prompted, “a minute. I just want to feel it.”

\----

He shouldn't prolong this; he knew he shouldn't. They could spend an eternity of _one mores_ if they weren't careful. One more hug. One more kiss. One more smile. One more laugh. He _should_ be opening the door and sending Dorian on his way. He should. It would just get harder the longer the man stayed.

_Just say good night._

But instead of _good night_ , his lips let out a content sigh and curled up in a happy smile as his arms wrapped around Dorian's waist as completely as they could. Amber eyes slid closed as Cullen buried his face into ebony hair and he took time to just remember… remember that touch, that scent, that feeling. Cullen's knees went weak with it all, but still he leaned into Dorian, held him tighter, for want of more.

“I should be saying goodbye,” Cullen finally breathed, “but I can't seem to for the life of me.”

\----

“Same,” Dorian breathed into Cullen’s shoulder, and he turned to press warm kisses along the stretch of neck that was so close to him. Even on the boat, with the smell of fish and rubber and engine, Cullen still smelled like earth and salt and everything Dorian loved so much about him. It was there, hidden under the rest of it, and it drove him wild.

Quickly, one of Dorian’s hands smoothed lower to pull the collar of Cullen’s shirt down. He made sure to expose the man’s collarbone, which would be far enough away from any prying eyes, and Dorian bent his head to sink his teeth into the soft skin there. He bit hard and sharply, sucked a little at that wonderful skin, until there was a lovely purpled mark there with the perfect indent of teeth.

He leaned up, kissed Cullen again, and ruffled those soft curls before he stepped out of the other man’s embrace. Dorian knew he needed to go, but there was no way he was walking away without leaving Cullen _something_. A love bite would have to do. “Something to remember me by, hm?” he teased, “I ought to go. Varric’s going to notice here in a minute.”

\----

His body shuddered for the touch of teeth on skin. It was at the same time harsh and exquisite, and as his fingers tangled in those dark waves of hair just to _keep him there_ , Cullen hissed his appreciation through clenched teeth. No sooner than it had begun, though, Dorian was stepping away, looking rather pleased with himself. Cullen, though… that much had been an overload, ignited something he'd only barely kept a handle on thus far. A little lost in the desire for more, he felt himself reaching to pull the man back, throw him on the bed... _have_ him.

_Think about where you are for fuck’s sake._

He bit his bottom lip, hard, and that helped. It helped enough to quell whatever madness was about to overtake him, anyway, and he just shook his head with a look that was equal parts exasperation and lust. “You're terrible, you know that?” he teased back, keeping his voice down lest Samson and Alistair in the next room overhear. “Totally unfair. And I'm just supposed to let you walk out of here after that?”

\----

He grinned, “Well, we have to go back to town _sometime_ , don’t we?” Dorian asked with a bit of an eyebrow waggle, “that’s a long jog, isn’t it? Lots of time to rest and relax?” Well, relatively anyway. Cullen had the wheel watch hours, but four hours at a time was pretty good, wasn’t it? Especially if Cullen got to rest afterward.

He leaned over, kissed Cullen just _one more time_ , and winked. “I’ll see you in a bit,” Dorian promised, and quickly slipped out the door and back to his and Varric’s room. His face was flushed. He knew it was, he could feel the heat coming off him, but as he closed over the door and sank back against it with a sigh he realized he did _feel_ better. Just a kiss, something quick and sweet, made all the difference.

\----

When the door opened, Varric looked up from where he was labelling and packing up full memory cards from the trip out so far. It was Dorian - who else would it be? - but he had to pull a double take to really take him in. The man was positively flushed, and with that disheveled hair and the way he was sighing against the door he looked like some moony teenager. Maker, if Varric didn't know better, he'd think… well, but he _didn't_ know better, did he? He felt his interest spike… this was curious. Certainly worth investigating, anyway, because it felt like there was a story there, behind mussed hair and that pleased expression. Besides, he and Trev had had a lot of time to speculate over certain...  _activity_ on deck.

“Having yourself a good evening, Sparkler?” he asked in a light tone as he went back to the task at hand.

\----

Shit. He’d thought Varric would have dropped into bed already. That’s what he did literally every other night, so why in the fuck was he up and sorting through things _now_? Of all the times to be doing it. Dorian straightened, cleared his throat, and rubbed a hand at the back of his neck.

“Is it ever a good evening on this boat?” he asked, “eat a thousand calories, try not to throw it back up, try for a shower, maybe go out for a smoke if the weather doesn’t suck... fucking _great_ , isn’t it?” Dorian knew his tone was a little acidic, but it wouldn’t do for him to be sighing and looking so damned _happy_ when someone could see.

He headed for bed and set to digging through his own bags, “And what about you? What pearls of wisdom did Trev have for you tonight? An hundred and one ways to steer a boat?”

\----

Mood shift. Redirection. _Oh, he's definitely hiding something_. And it wasn't as if Varric didn't have an idea what it might be... he just still had a hard time _believing_ it. “Oh, Trev’s alright. A little worried right now, though. I guess Curly’s a little off his game this season.” He ventured a look up at Dorian from corner of his eye. Just… just to see. Because if what he and Trev suspected was even a little bit true, that would be one fucking amazing story.

\----

“Is he?” Dorian asked, maybe a little too quickly, “Maker knows it seems like he’s smiling a bit more. Is there something so wrong with that?”

Except that sounded bad.

“I mean, I rather like not being yelled at,” he went on, “Alistair too.”

There. That was something. Dorian dug through his bags, pulled out a notebook that had his checklist of things on it, and quickly looked down over it just so his eyes had something to do. It had to look natural, though, so he brushed at his mustache a bit like he was thinking. He was always thinking, so that at least would come across.

\----

 _Well, I'll be damned_.

Varric watched that little show, saw Dorian tense even as he pretended not to, and just… it was all he could do to hold on to that pleasant look of friendly interest. Inside, of course, he felt that itch to _know_ … but he knew when to push and when to back off. This was definitely a time to back off and learn by observing - too much more, and Dorian would shut down. Or so Varric assumed.

“I'm sure it's nothing,” he said with a shrug. “Trev gets worried, is all. Cullen's usually so… well, you know. You've seen him.”

Still, the kid was alright, and damned talented, too. Varric liked him, and if what he suspected was true… well, it wouldn't matter how talented Dorian was - he could find himself in trouble with a quickness. A moment passed before he spoke again.

“It's a small boat, Dorian. A small boat out here alone in a big ocean. Just… keep that in mind.”

He sighed, setting his bag under the bunk before laying down and pulling the covers up to his chin.

\----

He didn’t know how to take that, really. Dorian turned, one eyebrow cocked, and studied Varric for a long moment. Was it supposed to be some jab at him? Maker, did he _suspect_ something? Maybe... maybe he wasn’t as smooth as he thought he was. Though that wasn’t true, so much. Varric was a brand of astute that sometimes scared him. He saw more than most, could piece together more than most, and if he had an inkling about something then there was a good chance his intuition was right.

That was dangerous.

“I…” he began, and looked down at his bag, “yeah. Thanks.”

Arguing or saying anything else would be an admission, and he knew that. Still, the dwarf had a point. It was a _small_ boat. Small places with prying eyes, even in secrecy, were dangerous places. Dorian knew that well enough. It hurt that he knew it, hurt that he had to live like that, and he sighed before he tucked everything back in the bag and went to get into bed as well.

“You could write a book of proverbs, you know,” Dorian deadpanned as he pulled off his glasses and went to turn off the light, “all your smart quips and that kind of thing. People pay good money for that.”

\----

Days that felt like hours. Hours that felt like days. Time passed in miserable fits and bursts after the night Dorian had fallen on top of the stack, after he’d dropped by Cullen’s room unannounced and left him that little mark. _Something to remember me by_ , he’d said, as if there was any way Cullen could forget. Still it had been… nice. A little secret something that only Cullen knew about, sitting right over his collarbone, waiting to greet him each time he faced the mirror in the little bathroom they all shared. Each time, he’d brush his fingertips over the purple skin, smiling as he felt his cheeks heat with the memory that came with it.

But now, that little mark had all but faded, and there’d been no chance for even one more stolen moment. In fact, all they had for the past cold, lonely week were the notes they could only exchange when no one was looking and the briefest of smiles when Cullen dared.

At least Trev had them on the crab. Cullen had never seen them pull such good numbers, in fact, and everyone was riding the high what could very well be a legendary season. Even Cullen smiled more easily and joked right along with everyone, despite the loneliness and heartache that was just under the surface. How could he not? The tanks were already almost full - that first offload was just around the corner… which meant a nice long sleep for everyone. A nice long sleep when everyone was tucked safely into their rooms and maybe, just maybe…

The crew had already gone up on deck, getting ready to haul in the last string before steaming the 14 hours back to Gwaren. Cullen would have normally been the first one up there, probably kicking a few of the guys into gear as he went, but not this time. In fact, he’d lagged behind several times when the captain called them to work, doing exactly what he was doing now - sneaking down the hallway to Dorian’s room so he could hide a note under the man’s pillow.

_Dorian,_

_It seems my ‘something to remember you by’ has faded. I think I may need a refresh, or risk forgetting you altogether. There’s nothing for it - you just have to come see me._

_But seriously… I miss you. It’s been so hard without you, even though you’re just down the hall. After this last pot is pulled, Trev’s heading back to Gwaren to offload, and there’ll be some time. Six hours of it before I have wheel watch. If you can get away… I’d like to spend that time with you. Maker, even if we just fall asleep (which I’m sure will be the case because, shit, we’re exhausted), it’ll still be perfect. I just want to fall asleep next to you. I just want to hear your heartbeat and feel your arms around me and put mine around you and drift off._

_What do you think? Sound like a plan?_

_I truly hope to see you then._

_Yours,_

_Cullen_

\----

Last string. Last string and then rest. Last string, rest, and some time in town. Dorian’s stomach had still been fairly sick, though not nearly so bad, and he was looking forward to some time on dry land just to let it settle a bit. He needed that. He was also looking forward to some time to actually sleep. Maker, he was so tired. He was tired and sore and bruised, and he just wanted to lie down. Not alone, of course, but he’d take the floor of the galley at this point.

He’d stayed out for a while, pulled much of the same footage of the guys getting good numbers, but had gone in after a while to offer his services as cook before the long jog. After the last string, the guys would want something good, so he was doing a rather fabulous smelling roast with potatoes and vegetables for them. They deserved it, after all. So Dorian had ducked into his room after a while, caught that note that Cullen had left him, and practically melted when he read it.

How could he say no? He couldn’t. After so long, they deserved a night together, after all. And after that little comment from Varric, Dorian had tried to keep his distance a little better. That had seemed to work reasonably well. Just a smile here and there and some joking when the others had already joined in. Arguably, it was a lot more fun than trying to hide it altogether.

So, a quick reply-

_I’ll be there._

And he left it tucked under the pair of gloves that always seemed to be on Cullen’s bed now. It was for his benefit and he knew it, and that only made him smile more.

String done, the crew cleaned up and headed in just as Dorian was pulling everything from the oven. Whoops and hollers of joy filled the galley, and Dorian grinned as he set down the pans on the table so everyone could get as much as they pleased. They seemed to enjoy it, too, if how much they ate had anything to say about it, and Dorian happily settled into the round seat as everyone milled around and ate. Trev even came down to get a plate as well, and he smiled for the look of relief on the captain’s face.

This was, after all, better than everyone dragging out cereal or whatever they could find.

\----

Hours later, and it was done. As with any long grind - regardless of how good the numbers were -  it was toilsome work. Backbreaking, despite the little celebration that happened each and every time they pulled a full-to-bursting pot from the sea… which was all of them. All three of The Herald’s holding tanks were stuffed - they had to release the entirety of the last two pots into the sea. Cullen didn't know what deity Trev appealed to, be it the Maker or Mythal or the old gods of Tevinter, but he was happy for it. For the crew's sake as well as his own.

The deck boss was the last one down after that final pot was emptied and stacked. Regardless of how anxious he was to see if Dorian had gotten his note and if he'd be able to sneak away - and Cullen was very anxious, though he tried not to let it show - he still had a job to do. He'd waited almost two weeks; he could wait a little longer to make sure everything on deck was stowed and secured for the trip back to port. He didn't head back down until he was satisfied there'd be nothing rolling around or lost to the sea, and the men, including the captain, were well into their dinners by then, which, by the smell of it, promised to be delicious as well as hearty. Cullen waved off the crew’s raucous invitations to join them as he pushed by. “In a minute - I don't fancy sitting around in wet clothes,” he shot back, smiling at all of them, but it was really for Dorian, that smile. He let his gaze linger just a little longer on Dorian's face, searching and hopeful, before he ducked into the relative peace of the hallway and his room.

Dorian's reply was there, short and to the point, and Cullen's smile brightened, lighting up his eyes with everything from happiness to relief to anticipation. He could feel it in his blood, a nervous, jittery sort of energy that he knew wouldn't go away until dinner was done, the crew was asleep, and his door opened quietly sometime after.

Indeed, his knee bounced uncontrollably the whole time he sat with the crew and ate. As expected, the food was _good_ \- hearty and warming for Dorian's love of spice. Perfect, in short, to recover from the work they'd been doing. And filling, too, which was also good… it put the guys in the mindset of turning in faster than maybe ramen noodles would have. Cullen wasn't the first to thank Dorian for such a good meal, Alistair took those honors, but he did make sure it was sincere. Hopefully, it wasn't too much. They were almost halfway there. It wouldn't do to rouse suspicion now.

After eating his fill, his first instinct was to rush back to his room, but no. No, he had to be patient. There'd be no sneaking anywhere from anyone until the dishes were done and everyone had gone to bed, after all. So, he volunteered to do the dishes, if only so he knew there wouldn't be any procrastinating, and when everything was up and away, he made a show of yawning and stretching before bidding the few still shooting the breeze in the galley good night.

Alone in his room now, and all there was left to do was wait. Wait and hope Varric was the type to drop off to sleep quickly. The clock was ticking down, after all.

\----

Food eaten and cleaned up, Dorian let himself relax into the seat in the galley. Alistair and Varric were essentially the last ones left after the others had gone to drop themselves down into bed. Dorian knew where he was going once everyone headed that way, and as he finished off his drink he blinked once before he stretched and got up to rinse out his cup and go to his and Varric’s room. Perhaps a show that he was ‘going to bed’ would instigate them to go as well, and Dorian quickly changed into something decidedly more cozy while he waited.

Not long later, Varric joined him and he heard the telltale _click_ of the door to Alistair and Samson’s room closing, too. They chatted for maybe a minute before the light was off and they were both curled up in bed. Dorian was tired, tired enough that it was hard to keep himself awake as he lay there in his uncomfortable bunk and waited for Varric’s snoring to even out. Once he was asleep, that would be it. The rest of them would sleep until they got to town, probably, so they’d be in good shape.

Finally, Dorian pulled himself out of bed and quickly let himself out of the room. The boat was quiet and the lights were dimmed, so he padded nearly silently down the hall. No one was in the bathroom. He could hear the various snores and muttering of the others in their sleep, and as he got to Cullen’s door, he braced himself for a moment. Maker, he was so excited for this. Dorian was tired, but he was practically vibrating with excitement, and as he rest a hand on the doorknob he took a quiet breath.

He didn’t knock. He just opened the door and stepped inside. Knocking might wake someone, and Dorian closed the door over immediately before he sighed and leaned back against it. Grey eyes locked on Cullen, watched him sitting on the bed, and Dorian just grinned.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “this... isn’t my room? I must have gotten lost.”

\----

The wait was interminable. Cullen waited for the group in the galley to wind down. Cullen waited to hear footsteps outside his door. Cullen waited for Varric to fall asleep. He waited and with each passing second, he felt… nerves settle in. It’d been less than two weeks since the start of the season, so he shouldn’t be nervous. It hadn’t been too long ago that curling up in bed with Dorian for sleep or… other things… was entirely natural. But none of those had been prompted with a written fucking invitation, had they? So Cullen waited with anticipation and anxiety, knee bobbing up and down rapidly as he just… sat there.

_Well, what if he couldn’t get away? Or, more likely, what if he just fell asleep himself?_

He willed his knee to stop, but it wouldn’t. In the end, he rested his elbows on both knees and pripped his head up in his hands, staring at the floor and trying not to worry… too much. If Dorian had fallen asleep, Cullen could hardly blame him. It had been a long day for all of them - he was probably exhausted and…

He heard a soft click and looked up, and there Dorian was. Standing there and teasing and looking like everything Cullen wanted, scruff and all. Nerves melted away at the sight of the smile set under that dark mustache, and Cullen felt himself smiling back in return. “Mmmm, must have,” he agreed in a low tone as he rose to his feet, grimacing for just a moment at the burn in his shoulders and ache in his lower back, “I’d be happy to show you the way since you’ve gotten turned around somehow.”

\----

“Oh, I think this should do okay for now,” Dorian practically purred before he reached out to pull Cullen to him. He leaned up on his toes, kissed Cullen soundly, and just raked his hands first through blond curls and then down over Cullen’s cheeks and to his neck and chest. It hadn’t been that long since they’d had a moment together, nor all that long since they’d shared a real bed, but it felt like it had been Ages. Dorian wanted as much of this as he could have, and there was no way he was letting go now.

He sighed softly before he nipped at Cullen’s lower lip. Maker help him, but the man looked so tired. He looked tired and sore and like he could drop at any moment. “Bed?” Dorian asked against Cullen’s lips, “before you pass out standing there?”

\----

Any tension that remained in Cullen’s body completely released with that one perfect kiss and those gentle touches. In its place settled a heavy sort of tiredness - all those hours of work catching up with him, no doubt - but there was also a deep sense of… something like contentment there, too, adding to that warm weight. He could have melted into Dorian’s arms, he practically already had. Everything in his body called out for sleep - real sleep like he’d had those two blissful weeks back home. The kind of rest that he’d only felt lying next to Dorian.

“Maker, I feel like I might,” he breathed and followed Dorian back for another soft kiss before shifting back to look - _really look_ \- at the man for what felt like the first time in forever, eyes warm and happy despite the exhaustion. Calloused fingers ghosted over the line of Dorian's jaw and scarred lips curled up for the tickly-scratch of scruff there, thicker now than it had been days before. For all his teasing, the man looked as tired as Cullen felt, and there was still a bit of sick pallor to his skin - though thankfully _that_ hadn't been as bad as the last time out. Still, in spite of the stubble that was approaching an actual beard and the sickness and everything else, Dorian was beautiful. Dorian would _always_ be beautiful.

His hands smoothed down the other man's arms to grasp both of Dorian's hands. Cullen squeezed, took a few steps back to pull the man along with him until his legs hit the bunk, then crawled in under the covers. With a sleepy little smile, he scooted further into the bed and held the blanket up, giving Dorian space to join him. “Think you can find your way next to me?” he asked, teasing just a bit as he grinned up at Dorian and spoke in hushed tones.

\----

Like he’d ever have to work hard for that.

Dorian smiled, watched Cullen climb into bed, and happily joined him. One hand reached out to put his glasses on the little table beside the bed, and he sighed that happy blurriness spread across his vision. He was cozy enough in his pajamas, and wrapped his arms around Cullen’s shoulders as he all but plastered himself up against the other man’s side. Cold toes wrapped in thick socks sought out the spaces between Cullen’s legs and the bed in hopes of warming up, and he buried his face in against warm skin.

Yes. Yes, this was what they needed.

“Maker knows I’d stay next to you for as long as you’d let me,” he mumbled, then sighed at himself for how sappy that was, “uncomfortable as these beds are, this is... nice. Perfect.”

\----

Eyes closed, Cullen smiled at the feeling of Dorian curling in close, and that momentary bout of nerves from before felt silly. What did he have to be nervous about? Everything about this was perfectly natural… the lonely days and nights before were wrong. _Pretending_ was wrong. This? This was _right_. For five short hours, until Cullen had to report to wheel watch, everything would be right because Dorian was there.

Cullen held Dorian as tightly as he dared, strong arms circled around the man's waist, and he revelled in the sensation of it, even as he fought to hold off sleep for just a little while longer. It was there, the need to drop off into slumber, trying to steal what little time they had together. Well, Cullen wouldn't let it… not yet, anyway. The warmth, the way Cullen could feel Dorian breathing, the way he filled Cullen's senses and soothed his heart… that was all too good to lose a second of it to sleep. So he chuckled, pressed a kiss into soft dark hair, and took a deep breath that came out as a happy sigh. “It is, isn't it?” he murmured. “Because you're here, I think. Or maybe it's because of my mattress pad,” he teased, feigning a thoughtful voice before smoothing a hand up Dorian's side, over his shoulder and up under his chin to tilt his head up so they were eye to eye in the dim light of the room. “No,” he finally said, “It's definitely because you're here.” Before Dorian could reply, likely with some comment about how thoroughly cheesy Cullen was, he leaned in for a kiss, slow and sweet and, yes, perfect.

\----

Oh, but that kiss was wonderful. It was exactly what he needed. That brush of lips was just... everything he could have asked for. One hand lifted to curl in that soft hair, and Dorian tangled his fingers so he could tug just a little. That kiss was slow and sweet, but the longer it lasted the _more_ he wanted.

That was a terrible idea.

It didn’t stop him from gently tugging Cullen’s head back, though, so he could get at his neck and Dorian scraped both lips and teeth down over Cullen’s scruffy jaw to his throat. That slightly scratchy, slightly soft auburn hair that dusted over Cullen’s cheeks and down his neck only made Dorian want it more, and he bit sharply at Cullen’s neck. He couldn’t leave a mark there, he knew that, but he couldn’t help it. He swirled his tongue over it and sighed before he leaned up to nose at Cullen’s ear.

“Maker’s breath,” he breathed, and nipped at Cullen’s earlobe, “tell me this is a bad idea, won’t you?”

\----

The rake of teeth against his throat had Cullen inhaling in a sharp hiss then clenching his jaw to remain silent. After weeks of almost nothing, that kiss and then that biting nip… the reaction was almost immediate, like a light switch flicking on. It made his blood run hot and his mind crackle. All that heavy sleepiness from before had all but disappeared as his hands moved to Dorian’s hip, fingers digging in and pulling him in closer. They weren’t close enough, not nearly even though they were pressed together in that tiny bed, and Cullen’s body was yearning for it.

“This is a bad idea,” he answered, voice low and full of gravel as his hand slipped up and under the hem of Dorian’s shirt, seeking out more warm skin… as much as it could touch. Fingers skimmed along his side, over ribs, and up over Dorian’s chest, skimming that gold hoop Cullen knew was there - not by much, just enough to be felt. At the same time, he caught Dorian’s lips in a kiss that was far less sweet. It was greedy, wanting. It was tongues meeting and lips pressing on lips and tasting and teasing. It _was_ a bad idea. “But are you going to let that stop you?”

\----

“No,” Dorian answered between kisses, and carefully wound one leg around Cullen’s hip. This was a terrible idea. The walls were thin, they were woefully underprepared, and neither of them were quiet enough to do this with any real secrecy. He knew that. Dorian knew that.

He also didn’t care.

He rolled them over, sat on top of Cullen’s hips so he could smile down at him, and Dorian started trying to pull the other man’s shirt up over his head. They were wearing far too many layers, and while it was warmer inside than outside by a lot, it still wasn’t a pleasant warmth like it had been at Cullen’s house. They had blankets, though. That would have to do.

Dorian bent over and kissed Cullen again, once his shirt was pulled up over his head, and Dorian nipped at his lower lip again, “Look at you,” he breathed, “you’re the most beautiful thing on this boat, amatus.”

\----

Oh, but they were playing with fire. The walls that separated the cabins were dangerously thin - if either Samson or Alistair was still awake next door, they'd surely hear anything louder than a whisper. But with Dorian pulling at his shirt and straddling him, looking like he did and being who he was… Cullen decided to throw caution to the wind and just let this wave carry him where it would. Quietly, though. _I can be quiet_ , he thought as, already, his hands were working to pull Dorian's shirt off, and he bit back a laugh for the thought. _Quiet_ wasn't a word he could use to describe himself, after all. Not with Dorian, anyway.

But then Dorian was kissing him and speaking. Cullen had some retort ready - _well, the bar is set pretty low on this boat_ or something like that - but then there was that word. It sounded familiar and strange at the same time. He was sure he'd never heard it before, but there was something tickling in the back of his mind like maybe he had. _Amatus._ Tevene? Was that something in Tevene, then?

“Mmm. No fair,” he murmured, returning the kiss as he pulled short fingernails lightly across the bare skin of Dorian’s back. “Bringing other languages into this. What's that mean? Ama… amatus?”

\----

He smiled and rolled his hips for that, “Mm, you’ll find out soon enough,” Dorian told him softly against Cullen’s lips, “not now.” A kiss, one that was slow and sweet like the one before had been. Both hands cupped Cullen’s face and Dorian kissed him soundly, “It’s something good, though,” he went on, “I promise.”

His hands smoothed down Cullen’s neck and to his chest so he could rake his nails over that soft skin. Of course they would have to be quiet, but Dorian couldn’t help himself. Watching Cullen squirm was one of his favorite things. It was magical, really, and he’d do whatever he could to have it. They had hours: hours to play and hours to sleep, and Dorian intended to use every second of it to their advantage.

Hours later, hours after they’d curled up in Cullen’s bunk with heaving chests and tired bodies, Dorian felt the boat shudder a little and the horn sound. Town. They were back in Gwaren. They were back in Gwaren and he was still in Cullen’s bed. The other man had gotten up a while ago for the wheel watch shift, but had come back to curl in close with Dorian. They were waking now, just as the others would be, and he lifted his head from the pillow so he could look down at the mop of Cullen’s curls that still rest on his chest.

Clothes. He needed to get dressed. He needed to get dressed and get out of Cullen’s room. The others would be awake soon, if they weren’t already, and Dorian knew he couldn’t be seen shuffling out behind Cullen. They were _trying_ to be secretive. Maybe not succeeding as well as he hoped they would, but they were trying. Surely…

Surely the others would understand. Maybe not understand _them_ together, but understand that they were something and wanted to be together when they could be. Right? All of them, every guy on the boat, were good people. They would understand in their own way. He knew they would. The producers? Maybe not so much, but that was a bridge for another day.

One hand ruffled Cullen’s hair and Dorian started to move, “I need my clothes,” he whispered, “before the others start getting up. If Varric wakes up and I’m not there…”

\----

 _Not yet_.

Cullen groaned. He'd _just_ closed eyes, Maker damn it. _Just_ curled back up next to Dorian in their comfortable nest of blankets. This wasn't fair. “Five more minutes,” he grumbled, arms strengthening their hold. He knew they didn't have five minutes. They didn't even have _one_ more minute, not now that the horn had sounded. He should have set an alarm. If he'd been smart, he would have… but at the time, all he'd been thinking of was crawling back into that soft wonderful place right next to Dorian. Damn. That was stupid.

Cullen sat up and rubbed a hand roughly over his face. “Ok. I'm up, I'm up. Let's, ah, find your clothes.” It took a bit of fumbling about with the rocking of the ship, but they found each article of clothing that had been stripped off and tossed in the night. Cullen sat back down on the bed as Dorian got dressed and tried very hard not to think about how much more difficult the next trip out was going to be after this. Still...

“This was good,” he whispered loud enough for Dorian to hear, smiling up at the other man. “We should do it more often, I think.”

\----

As Dorian pulled his shirt over his head, he turned to look over his shoulder at Cullen, “You’re insatiable,” he teased quietly, and turned to cup the other man’s face so he could kiss him soundly. They didn’t have much time for witty banter, so Dorian just kissed him and mussed his hair. It didn’t sound like anyone else was really up and going yet, so he’d probably be able to sneak to the galley and pretend he’d just gotten up to make coffee. Hopefully.

“Are you on count duty?” Dorian asked, “because if not... lunch, maybe?” He smiled, “if you want?”

Reluctantly, he pulled away and moved for the door, “I’ll be in the galley,” he whispered, “just nod at me for yes, hm?”

So he winked once, ducked out, and headed for the galley. Quickly, he set to remaking the coffee in the pot and tried not to frown at how cold he was without Cullen’s arm around him. Sleeping in that bunk with him had been the best thing, and while he felt _better_ after that... another couple of hours would have been nicer. Maybe he’d sneak in while the count was on and have a nap since the others tended to go off and make their own fun during the downtime. For Dorian, downtime meant sleep, and he was certainly hoping for more of it. Maybe... maybe with Cullen there too if the others were gone.

Not long after that the others started wandering in and out, and Dorian managed to offer them a small smile as the coffee brewed. Trev would have them out to tie up the boat soon, but a bit of something warm and caffeinated probably wouldn’t go astray. Everyone still looked rather wrecked, and for a moment Dorian actually figured that no one would probably notice (save Varric) if they saw him coming out from another door. They were too half awake as it was to form any real words anyway.

\----

After Dorian closed the door behind him and left him alone in his room, Cullen flopped backwards on the bed with a contented sigh and a grin on his face. Maker help him, he was like a teenager for how stupidly giddy he was. It was ridiculous. It was _wonderful_ … but it was ridiculous. To be so completely… smitten? Was that the word? Whatever it was, Dorian left him weak in the knees, but stronger at heart. Happier. Open. A better person than he was before, and at peace with himself, despite the fluttering in his stomach whenever Dorian was near. All that… was there a word for it? There had to be, and sometime soon, he'd take the time to figure it out.

But that was time he didn't have right now. “Ah, fuck,” he grumbled as he pulled himself up and onto his feet. A few minutes later saw him dressed in layers, ready to head out to tie off the boat and get this count started. For a moment before he left his room, he wondered if lunch was really wise. The counts could take upwards of 12 hours, but that wasn't the problem. They all took breaks throughout the day - to eat, to rest, to go get more food for the next trip out - so Cullen wouldn't be missed for an hour or two. The problem was that it would be so… public. His mind cast back to that first morning months ago when Cullen had left the boat thinking it was just breakfast, but came back trying to shut down something that had ultimately refused to be shut down. He'd been taken entirely off guard by Dorian that morning, and he wasn't sure he stood much of a chance now.

He moved then, out into the hallway and into the galley where most of the crew was grumbling or staring blankly into their mugs of coffee. Well, save for Dorian and Alistair. They stood there next to the coffee pot, chatting about something or other, and Dorian was smiling and _Maker_ he was handsome. Effortlessly and in a way that made Cullen's heart clutch even though he'd been kissing the man goodbye not 15 minutes ago. _Go to lunch_ , he thought, _how could you not?_ For fuck’s sake, so long as they didn't hold hands or play footsie, it should be fine. It would be fine.

Cullen strode over, trying not to smile but failing miserably. “Morning,” he greeted the two men, maybe a bit more brightly than was customary, and began making his own cup of coffee. That done, he wrapped his hand around his mug. “Alistair. Dorian,” he said in farewell, but as he said Dorian's name, he nodded and the corners of his mouth hitched up a little further. _It's a date_ , he thought and turned, walking up the stairs to get the day's work underway.

\----

Lunch. They were doing lunch. How wonderful. That would make today that much better. Everyone would be working, including Dorian as he filmed some of the counting and offloading, but it was a lighter kind of day. He could go up on land to ease the nausea, do whatever he needed to do, and it was okay. They had more leeway here, and Dorian appreciated that.

Though a wrench was thrown in about an hour later when Trev came down from the wheelhouse and went to find him:

“Hey, Dorian?” he asked from the other side of Dorian and Varric’s door.

He’d been taking a little while to write a note to Cullen, one that was... more than the others. It was longer, bigger, more heartfelt. It said a lot of things he hadn’t been able to say out loud, things that scared Dorian beyond belief to put into words, but he couldn’t keep them back anymore. In this place, having to act like they did... Dorian had thought it would be less cruel to keep it locked up. After last night, after a night curled up together like they had been, Dorian couldn’t hold onto it anymore. It would be more cruel _not_ to tell Cullen. Maybe this was the coward’s way, but at least Cullen would be able to hold onto it if he wanted to. Hopefully, he’d want to and this wouldn’t scare him away.

“Yeah?” Dorian answered as he signed the note and quickly folded it up so he could get up and open the door, “did you need me for something?”

Trev shrugged, “Uh, not _me_ , but I just got a call in from one of the land crew producers. They said they wanted to check in with you and asked if they could come over. I told them sure.”

Interesting. They hadn’t come to see him last season.

“Okay,” Dorian said before he licked his lips and smiled, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“No worries,” Trev told him, “I just wanted to tell you.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Once Trev left for the wheelhouse, Dorian quickly pulled on something a bit more professional looking and ducked into Cullen’s room to leave the note under his pillow. He didn’t leave the edge sticking out as much as he would have before, but he did know Cullen would be looking for it. Hopefuly... maybe, maybe he’d see it before they went out later. Maybe they could talk about it over lunch, even though the thought of it made his stomach cramp a little.

Done and dressed now, Dorian headed for the galley and set to pouring himself the last of the pot of coffee and making another one. It was bitterly cold out, and he had a feeling everyone would want something warm to drink when they got there. It was the nice thing to do, after all.

\----

After the boat was tied securely to the docks, Cullen stayed up on deck to help the processor crew get started, draining the first tank and pulling the large cover off with the boat’s crane. That wasn’t terribly unique - for the most part, Cullen was usually the one to get the whole offload process started while Trev spoke with the processors and the crew of The Herald took care of other boat business. There _was_ a difference today, though. One that made most of his crew  give him strange looks as they walked by… that difference was the smile he wore. He just couldn’t turn it off, nor could he tone down the uncharacteristically bright tone in his voice or the little bounce in his step. Things were just… well, _good_ right now, after the night he’d had and the promise of lunch. They’d be back to the seriousness and separation soon enough, but Cullen chose not to dwell on that. He wanted to ride this particular high as long as he could.

So, time passed as he watched the numbers go up and up. So far, there’d been no dead loss, but he wasn’t really worried about that - they’d brought the crab on so quickly, there wasn’t really a chance for too much of that to happen anyway. He helped Alistair straighten up the bait station and pretended not to notice the odd looks the man shot him. He noticed Dorian out on deck, weaving amongst the processors with his camera, and felt a blush rise for the memory of the night before and his mood brighten for the man’s presence. He helped Samson look over the hydro controls, laughing at the engineer’s growls of annoyance at Cullen’s chipper mood. Dorian disappeared below deck while Cullen was lending Blackwall a hand with some of the pots that needed repairs.

In short, he was busy and happy and the thought occurred to him that this was how it should be. For the first time, he wondered… would it really be so bad if they came clean with their relationship? He’d been scared this whole time that Trev would be angry and the show would leave the boat, pulling their money with them… but is that really what would happen? Maybe… maybe he should just talk to Trev, let him know what was going on and see what the captain thought. Maker, had they been going about this the wrong way this whole time? Was there a better way?

As Cullen watched the captain leave the wheelhouse and make his way below decks, he decided right then to talk it over with Dorian at lunch. And then, Dorian willing, talk to the captain. Be honest. And with that decision made, Cullen instantly felt lighter… like maybe the next time out wouldn’t be so fucking terrible.

“Alright you,” Trev’s voice came from behind Cullen some time later, “Go on and get some rest. I’ll keep watch.”

“You sure? I’m really ok,” Cullen answered, though he did want to go grab his phone and let his family know he was alright.

“Yeah, go on.”

So he did. Dorian was down in the galley, so he grinned and nodded as he walked through to his room. There were still a few hours until he could feasibly get away for lunch… something he was looking forward to immensely. He grabbed his phone from where it sat charging on the bedside table and began flipping through his new messages. He spent some time tapping off replies to his parents, Mia, Bran and Rosie before heading back out the door. But once in the hallway, he paused. Unfamiliar voices were greeting Dorian, and Cullen frowned as he wondered who it could be.

\----

“Normally we’d have a problem with this, but the angle is... well, it’s something we’d kind of been hoping for, you know? We get so much mail on his behalf, and for _you_ to be the one start flirting with him is something we never even thought about.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean, come on... the kiss, the little hand holding on deck and the whispering to each other. It’s genius. Cullen’s a huge fan favorite, and I can only imagine how much this’ll do for our ratings for him to have this whirlwind romance on the boat. One with a man, to boot. It’s so edgy. No one else is doing anything like this.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s what I thought too,” Dorian replied to one of the man standing there with an eyebrow cocked, “you know me, innovative to the very last.”

“And that’s why we hired you,” the other pointed out, “you do things differently than a lot of the others around here. It’s... raw and real, and our writers will have a field day with it.”

“Fuck your writers, alright?” Dorian hissed, “they’re not getting ahold of this and making it some moon-eyed nonsense.”

Another man laughed, “Want creative control?  That’s... you know, asking a lot. But, you know, you did come up with this on your own. We can give you that much.”

“How very thoughtful of you,” Dorian deadpanned, “putting my heart on the line for a writing credit.”

“Yeah, ‘heart on the line.’ Might as well commit, right?” the same one chuckled, “that’s... that’s ballsy. I’m half surprised he didn’t deck you for it.”

“Cullen would never hit me,” Dorian said, “and I don’t appreciate the implication that he would.”

\----

_‘… for you to be the one start flirting with him …’_

Cullen stopped dead in his tracks, still hidden from view in the hallway, heart pounding as he held his breath. They _knew_. Somehow, they knew, and he couldn't move forward or back. Paralyzed by the fear that everything they'd worked to prevent was crumbling around them, he stood silently shaking, clutching his phone in one hand until he felt it creak.

_They're going to fire him and tell Trev they're cancelling our spot on the show. They're going to pull their money with them. The Herald will go under, and every single man up there’ll be unemployed this time tomorrow. Because we couldn't fucking keep it in check. Because I was weak. Weak and stupid and…_

But they weren't firing Dorian… they were… they were _fucking congratulating_ him. This was ‘something they never even thought about’. Their kiss was _edgy._ It would net them _ratings._

_How… how do they even know about the kiss? That was in my room… that was private._

But then he remembered another, on deck. He remembered Dorian _leading_ him to where the cameras wouldn't see.

_At least, that's what he told me. That's what he wanted me to believe._

No. No… Dorian wouldn't do that. This was a mistake. Otherwise, it was all planned somehow.

_He's not like that. He wouldn't use me for ratings. Right?_

The blood had all but drained from Cullen's face. His whole body was somehow tense and loose at the same time as his heart pumped faster and faster, eyes wide and lips parted. Waiting. He was waiting to hear what Dorian had to say to them.

_‘Oh, yeah. That's what I thought, too. You know me, innovative to the very last.’_

_No._

Cullen's heart dropped to his feet.

_No. This isn't…_

_‘Fuck your writers, ok? They're not getting ahold of this…”_

The tension that had been holding Cullen up released, and he slumped against the wall, face a mask of shock.

_‘Want creative control? … you did come up with this on your own. We can give you that much.’_

_‘How very thoughtful of you.’_

_Enough! He’s thanking them for credit. Haven't you fucking heard enough?_

He had. Still reeling, not quite in control of… of anything, Cullen turned and stumbled back to his room, closed the door silently behind him, then leaned against it. His face was still slack in bewilderment; his breath came in erratic hitches as he tried to understand what he'd just heard…

_You had the right of him that first day. Part of the show, no care for the fishing, dangerous. Remember thinking that?_

_I did, but then he..._

_But then he what? He got to know you is all. He always seemed to find you alone. Remember the Southern Lights? He was waiting for you to notice him._

_That's ridiculous._

_Is it? What about breakfast?_

_That was my idea. He meant for Samson to be interviewed that morning, too._

_Right, but didn't he make the absolute fucking most of that opportunity as soon as he had you alone? Oh, it was an interview alright… but not the one you thought. Everything, all of it was to get to know what makes you tick so he could turn it around on you._

_No. I don't believe it..._

_Then why did he tell you the cameras couldn't see that kiss, hm? Why is he out there now, being congratulated and thanking them?_

_I don't know._

_You do._

_I don't._

_He used you, as sure as you've been used before._

_No._

But once thought, the idea took root. Every whispered word, every touch, every cry in the night while they were… Maker, had Cullen thought it was anything other than _fucking_? Every exchange, every memory was tainted by that phrase _he used you_ , and Cullen… he didn't know any more. He didn't know what was an act or what was real.

Or Maker help him, if any of it was.

The rush of anger hid the sound of his heart breaking. Cullen stalked his room, thinking of all the little things, all the clues he shouldn't have overlooked. Unforgivably foolish is what he'd been. An idiot, _again,_ because of his soft heart.

Again.

The thought that he'd stupidly repeated history, endangered others because he lost control, made his vision go white with rage. He grabbed the nearest thing - his pillow - and thrust it across the room, though that was hardly satisfying. That didn't sate the anger he'd turned inward at himself. That wasn't enough… he needed to…

A letter. There'd been a letter under that pillow, and the shock he felt when his eyes landed on it was visceral. Like a punch to the gut. Without thinking, still raging, he picked it up and crumpled it into a tight ball.

_I won't play into this any more. Fuck him if he thinks so._

But he couldn't… he couldn't throw it out. His eyes pricked with a bitter heat that spoke of deep shame - _throw it in the sea, you don't need it_ \- and he didn't. But for the life of him, he couldn't toss it.

Nor could he read it. Not now. Maybe not ever. So it went in with the others, a crumpled ball where they were all neat and creased and cared for.

“Fuck it,” he muttered as he slammed the drawer shut.

_I had the right of him in the beginning._

\----

“So we’re going to need you to maybe play this up a bit more-”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Dorian interrupted, “whatever you think this is? He and I? It’s not some _angle_ , do you hear me?”

A snort, “Yeah, right.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“...oh.”

“Yes. ‘Oh.’ Why would you ever think I’d do something as heinous as that to another person?” Dorian hissed, “ _use_ him like that? Are you insane?”

“I mean... that can’t stand, Dorian. We have policies-”

“That you were just about to turn the other cheek for in the name of good ratings because the green camera guy was getting the big, bad Deck Boss to make eyes at him. That’s disgusting, and you know it. And if you even begin to try to fire me for it, I’ll make damn sure that a microphone on this boat heard you trying to get me to agree with it and I’ll see you in court!”

He wasn’t yelling. Not really. Hissing loudly, yes, but not yelling. The last thing he needed was for anyone else to come into this. It was awful. Distasteful. Wrong. So, very wrong.

“Well, anything that happens on the boat is fair game to the storyline,” one of them men pointed out, “so... if we have on film or the microphone, it’s... it’ll be _in_ the show.”

“And that wasn’t by my design. If you want to get on my case about fraternizing with a coworker then do it, but it didn’t keep me from doing any work. Nothing was unsafe. Nothing was... biased. And there wasn’t anything in the contract about it. I would know, I looked.”

“I mean, it’s unprecedented, but-”

“I’m not ‘playing up’ anything. If whatever’s already made it on there is... well, that’s on me. I’ll have to deal with that, but I refuse to use Cullen for your ratings. I won’t. And if that’s what you want, then I’d rather walk.”

“No, Dorian, we wouldn’t... we wouldn’t _fire_ you. You’ve brought in a lot of interesting stuff. And you can still see him. It can be out in the open. You wouldn’t have to hide it-”

“Not for the enjoyment of all of Thedas to watch he and I try to feel our way through…” through a relationship? Through falling in love with the man? No. No, Dorian wouldn’t allow it. “You have what you have, but I’m not adding to it. That’s the end of it.”

“Fine, but if anything else makes it to tape it’s fair game too.”

“Again, that’s on me, but I refuse to use him like that. It’s obscene and I won’t be part of it.”

“Alright. Your loss, Pavus.”

Then... they left. They left, and Dorian was so fucking angry he could have punched a wall. His hands were shaking, and it made his already unsettled stomach clench even tighter. That they’d even entertain the thought to have him do that... Maker, it was sick. It was why he never wanted to be a part of anything like this. They took people’s lives and wrote some ridiculous story out of footage that was suspect at best and downright _wrong_ at worst. It wasn’t how it should be done.

Okay, so maybe he’d been rash and stupid. He’d made some bad choices. He’d... not been on his game, but that was _Cullen_. Cullen threw him off. He made him want to do romantic, stupid things and not worry about the consequences. Dorian loved him, after all. He had to know that. He had to know that Dorian wouldn’t hurt him. He’d never _do that_.

Dorian knew he was a good person, and if it meant his job then maybe he wasn’t in the right line of work because he wouldn’t put Cullen through anything like that. Not ever.

\----

The longer Cullen thought about it, the more everything came into horrible focus. All that shit about Dorian's parents cutting him off and him having nowhere to go? Just that. Shit. A line. A story to get to him, to manipulate his emotions. Fuck, maybe even all the seasickness was a part of… some attempt to make Cullen feel sorry for him. Hadn't he been better so far this season?

And then there had been the talk of after, and Cullen's chest heaved as his stomach turned just to think about it. Had that just been some way to keep his hopes up? To make him believe all this was more so he'd pull some idiotic stunt like… well, like last night? Fuck, even his decision to tell Trev before… that could have kicked up some fucking _delicious_ drama, couldn't it have?

_At least I did that much right. Trev doesn't have to know how stupid his deck boss is… not until this airs anyway, and I won't give them the satisfaction of adding to it. I'm going to do my fucking job, do it right from now on, and all they'll have is more of the same from me._

Still, decision made, he couldn't move. The anger from before had calmed, but left him just… numb. Nothing felt right. Had he been happy before? He didn't know, and if he had been, it was all a farce anyway.

So he sat. He sat on his bed with his head in his hands for hours, until the morning stretched out into the afternoon, trying to wall off the part of him that was hurting, patching it with lists and plans and what needed to be done better and who needed to do it.

He was, after all, Cullen Rutherford, hard ass deck boss of The Herald.

\----

Meeting done and most of his offload filming done, Dorian headed for the road that would take him to the diner. He hadn’t seen Cullen in a while, had rather hoped they might walk together, but with those producers hanging around that might not be the best idea. Maybe going alone, at least for now, wouldn’t be so bad. It gave him time to think and time to plan.

An hour ago, he was hoping to talk to Cullen about that note. He was hoping they might discuss a little... well, _more_. What they were. How they felt. That alone had made him feel sick, but now he had to look Cullen in the face and say that there was a good chance some of their story might end up on the show. Not that it was _bad_ exactly, but he knew Cullen was a private kind of person and wouldn’t want his love life all over the television like that. Dorian could understand that. He could only hope the other man would forgive him for it. He would. Dorian knew it in his heart that Cullen would and maybe the’d laugh about it.

So he headed for the diner and half expected to see that familiar mop of curls waiting for him. Except he didn’t. It confused him. Cullen was rarely late for anything. Ever. Maybe he got held up, that did happen from time to time, so he’d sit and wait. They had a while yet. That was fine.

_[Text: Cullen (12:15PM)]: Saved us a table. Figured u got held up a bit. What did u want to drink and I’ll order it for u?_

\----

_The deck boss. I am the deck boss. Nothing more, nothing less._

And he was. When Cullen left his room and strode back out on deck, it was with the same stride, the same discipline, the same authority he’d always had before this bizarre failure of a season happened. He was the same man he’d been last year and every year before it, barking orders curtly and watching the activity on the deck like a hawk. If the men had given him odd looks that morning, they were reeling this afternoon from the shift. That was alright - they’d get used to it. They’d fall back into the old habits before Cullen had gone _soft._ As for Cullen… the broken, bleeding part of his heart had been barricaded, stanchioned off and isolated to be dealt with… later. For now, there were no distractions. There could be no distractions on the Frozen Sea.

Well, save one last one, it seemed. He felt his phone buzzing as he stood at his post by the hydros, lighting a cigarette - _you only smoke when things are bad,_ something sad inside him said and he pushed it away as he glanced down at the screen.

Dorian. Of course it was Dorian. He thought everything was going his way still, didn’t he? Cullen’s lips pursed around the filter of his cigarette as his fingers tapped out a message, short but clear:

_[Text: Dorian (12:16PM)]: Don’t bother. I’m done._


	25. And Bid Its Angry Tumult Cease [1 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heartbreak sets in as Dorian wonders why and Cullen throws himself into his work to cope.

The count ended, as every other count before it did. The Herald went back out, as it always did. Cullen fulfilled his duty, as he always had. Stern but fair, at least that’s how he viewed his behavior. And diligent. Completely dedicated. To the boat. To the crew and their safety. Trev kept them on the crab, and Cullen made damn sure it came on board safely. That was the deal. That had always been the deal. He’d just lost sight of that for awhile.

But for all his authority, all the orders and all the projected confidence, he was running. Whether he knew it or not, he was running. Two days had passed out on the sea, and Cullen hadn’t slept… not in any significant amount, anyway… he’d _worked_. Busy. Always busy. And he made damn sure the only time he was alone was when he was behind his own door or doing wheel watch for Trev. If he was alone, he didn’t turn his mic pack off and he was always in plain sight of at least one camera. That was partly for the safety it afforded him and partly out of pure spite - _would he dare do anything when he knows I know there’s a camera around?_

And then there was Varric. He’d noticed, of course he had, that the dwarf had started filming on deck every now and then… filming _him,_ watching _him._ That had hurt a bit, too - he’d thought that, after all these years, Varric was… well, if not a friend, at least not 100% like _them_  - before he had a chance to chuck that hurt over the wall with the rest of the pain he was holding at bay with all this work. 

The men were avoiding him on break. Trev gave him looks of concern. Varric watched him like a hawk. For his part, Cullen pretended Dorian didn’t exist, and worked himself to the bone... then worked a little more.

It was lonely. It was unsustainable. It was fine. It was better than what had been going on, better than being used. It wouldn’t last long - if Trev kept it up, this would be a short season. A short season that would secure The Herald’s stability and promise there would be another. A short season that would _end_ so Cullen could go home and never think of this again.

\----

_You deserve this. That note was too much, and you knew it was. Now look what you’ve done: you’ve pushed him away, and he hates you for it. You ruined the only good thing you had in your life, and you almost lost your job for it. How could you be so stupid? What in the Void is wrong with you? Why would you tell him that?_

Dorian was... numb. There wasn’t much of a word beyond that. After that text, the one he got in the diner from Cullen, Dorian had gone numb, and his entire life shrank down to the small viewfinder on his camera as he worked. He ached, he felt sick, he was tired, but nothing compared to the numbness.

_I’m done_.

He heard the words in his head like Cullen had spoken them to him. Dorian knew the cadence of Cullen’s words so well now, knew the way his Fereldan accent would wind around them and the coldness that would have been there. They cut through him and he was bleeding from the inside. All because he’d made a stupid mistake. All because he’d tried to make this thing with Cullen more than just... what it was. But that was the way of it, right? Dorian laid his heart on the table, and someone set it on fire and smashed it with a hammer. He didn’t deserve that kind of love. No matter the care and affection Cullen had shown him, Dorian didn’t deserve it or the possible love he thought was between them, so he’d lost what little tread he’d had.

So... he worked. At first, after coming back, he’d tried to talk to Cullen. He tried to catch him alone, get him to at least say something so maybe Dorian could explain, but no. Cullen was always with someone, always had his mic on, always stayed where the cameras could see. After what had happened with the producers, Dorian had sworn that he wouldn’t drag any more of their relationship out where people could see. Not yet. Not until... not _unless_ he talked to Cullen first. It didn’t matter that he was hurting, he wouldn’t drag this out to be used against them. It was only right. But he tried to do it covertly, and Cullen... wouldn’t even look at him.

It turned his stomach. It made him sicker than he’d been. He questioned literally everything from the moment they’d met up til now. Hadn’t Cullen felt the same way? For how they talked, Dorian had been pretty confident that Cullen cared for him the same way. Maybe it was using the word? He was so... well, he was hurt. He’d _been_ hurt. Maybe he didn’t want to be reminded of that hurt. But still, after everything they shared together, it killed him to know that Cullen wouldn’t talk to him.

Numb. Completely numb.

He’d be numb for the remainder of the season, Dorian figured. He would do the job to the best of his ability, be dazzling and innovative and smart, and then he’d go. He’d find out how to live away from this. He’d quit after this season and never come back to it. How could he? How could he ever look Cullen in the face again now that he’d showed his hand? And his heart.

And Cullen didn’t want it.

\----

Yes. This was fine. The hours dragged into days, which had somehow turned into a week, and Cullen had _maintained_. He kept the deck moving. He kept every piece in its place, every piece doing exactly what it needed to do and when. Clockwork, is what it was. Clockwork is what Cullen felt like. Cold and mechanical and meant to serve a purpose. Unfeeling. That was it. That was all.

He didn’t look under his pillow to check for notes. He didn’t cast quick looks across the deck to find Dorian and make sure he was being safe. His heart didn’t clench when he saw dullness in eyes that had once been so unbelievably bright. His throat didn’t thicken and choke every time the man drew near. He didn’t completely break down in the small hours of the morning when he was alone and no one could see. He didn’t waste his time mourning what could have been or the brief glimpse of something better. He didn’t. He didn’t.

He _did_.

Chinks in the armor, that's all those times were. When he felt those weak spots in his shield, he’d double down. Find more work. Volunteer for more time at the wheel. Anything, _anything_ to keep those thoughts, that pain, the sheer exhaustion of it all from catching up with him. Maker help him, if it ever did, it would destroy him. And while he knew it would happen eventually, he wanted it to be somewhere away and private, where he didn’t have to show another soul the vulnerable weakness of his heart.

_Never again._

\----

Maybe this was what the crew lived. It was just hours and hours and days and days of the same old nothing. Dorian wasn’t his usual self. He couldn’t quite muster the smile to laugh and joke with the others like he did before. When Alistair would try to get him to talk, he just nodded and made an excuse to find something else to do. He drifted. It felt like he couldn’t keep still, but his brain felt like sludge moving through his head. He was too dull-minded to do anything, but his mind raced too much for him to be able to focus on anything other than work.

He was smoking more. More and more. Dorian’s lungs and chest burned more often than not, but he didn’t care. If he thought about that, thought about the pain in his chest that _wasn’t_ his heart, then it was a good moment. Maker, but he tried not to notice Cullen. He tried not to look at him beyond panning the camera that way. Interviews had gone undone just because he knew even if he went up to him, the man would ignore him. It was the job, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.

Finally, though, a break. A jog back to pick up the string they’d set the day before. The numbers were still good, which was good because it meant the trip would go by faster, and Trev wanted to keep them on those numbers for as long as possible. So now they had a few hours. Dorian just wanted to sleep. He didn’t want to lie there and think, he just wanted to sleep.

Hopefully, he would sleep.

“Hey... Sparkler?” Varric asked as they quickly changed in their room for bed.

Dorian hadn’t even bothered to shower. He just wanted to lie down. “What?” he asked curtly.

“Are you, you know, okay?”

“Fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m fine, Varric, okay?” Dorian practically hissed as he whirled around, all white-hot anger and annoyance, “whatever little pearls of wisdom you think you want to give me right now? I really don’t want to hear it. I just want to turn off the lights and fucking go to bed. Can we do that?”

The dwarf actually looked taken aback, and he blinked once before he shrugged, “Okay,” he answered, “just... you don’t _seem_ okay.”

“I’m fine. Absolutely bloody perfect. Can we go to bed now, please?”

“Sure, Sparkler. Whatever you want.”

\----

Maker help him, had he actually thought this was a solution? Had Cullen really believed that he could keep himself busy enough to outrun this heartache? He had, of course he had, and he was still going through the motions. Still working, but the walls he’d thrown up hastily that afternoon in Gwaren to keep the hurt in were corroding, slipping. He carried the pain with him all the time now, not just when he was alone and tired. Well, that wasn’t true… these days, he was always alone and tired. Alone even when he was surrounded by the rest of the crew. Alone as the poison from that betrayal and heartbreak leaked out into his soul. Alone as he fought off sleep, terrified of what he might dream now. Alone as he curled up in his bed and tried not to remember a time when it was warm and soft and safe.

He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to hurt by himself. Not any more. If anything, his time with Dorian had changed him in that way, had stripped him of whatever it was that had helped him drift through life without any attachments. He needed… what he desperately needed was…

Dorian.

Or who he thought Dorian was before all this shit, anyway. That was impossible - Cullen wasn’t sure that man existed now, though even that… what had seemed an immutable fact back in Gwaren was crumbling in the face of this.

And now he was stumbling even in his work. Of course he was - he was human, not some robot. Nodding off as he stood at the controls. Sluggish. Slow. Dumb. But still moving forward. Still tripping over himself to keep moving. Nothing seemed real and the world was a hazy place and his head swam, but on he pressed.

He was running. He’d been running since Gwaren, but the difference was… he knew it now.

Heavy footsteps on stairs that led up, and Cullen found himself in the wheel house. Trev’s familiar face illuminated by the screens that surrounded him. Wheel watch. He’d take a turn at the wheel and have time to get his head on right. That would help, right?

“Trev,” he called, and to his ears, his voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a barrel. The boat rocked a bit, and Cullen stumbled, barely catching himself before going down. “H-hey man. I can sit up here if you want to go to bed.”

\----

From where he was making notes on the computer, Trev lifted his head and turned to see Cullen climbing up the ladder. Maker, he looked terrible. He’d looked terrible since they’d left town the last time. Of course he’d been acting strangely, but... this was different. This was like the old Cullen, but almost as bad as he’d been when he’d just gotten on his first boat. The man was _haunted_.

“I can hang out for a while longer,” Trev answered, “you’re the one who looks like you should go to bed, man. You look... kind of like shit, if you want the truth.”

His eyes studied Cullen’s face, and he licked his lips. Something was wrong. Something bad. He’d seen it on deck, seen it inside, seen it everywhere. “Are you okay?” he asked, “did something happen at home? Mia and the kids okay?”

\----

Something about the way Trev looked at him - the care in his face and the concern in his voice - it shook Cullen’s already unstable foundations. The man hadn’t said much, had just asked after him. It was a question he’d batted off several times already on this trip... but this time, the fault line shifted, nerves grating on raw nerves that set off a storm in his mind, and everything just fell.

Everyone had a breaking point. Cullen had reached his. The walls came tumbling down, and he felt every bit of the past week all at once - every crack in his heart, every second of lost sleep came raining down on him, beating him down and leaving him helpless. Shoulders slumped, head hanging, he couldn’t even look Trev in the eyes. “No,” he said, voice barely louder than a whisper. “No, I’m not alright.”

\----

He turned in his chair and moved to stand up so he could take the couple of steps closer to Cullen, “You want to talk about it?” Trev asked gently, “I can get Barris to watch up here for a while.” Not that he was going to ask Cullen to stay up any longer, not up here. That was a Bad Idea, and even if Cullen didn’t want to talk he wasn’t going to sit there behind the wheel.

\----

Did he want to talk about it? Vaguely, Cullen recalled a time when he’d decided to tell Trev everything, to come clean as he’d put it… but that had been a happier time. This… did he want Trev to know just how fucked he really was?

_He already knows. Look at him looking at you. You can’t stand this any more, and you know it._

Cullen felt the rest of the ridiculous resolve to stand strong and stoic crumble as he nodded. Yes, he wanted to talk about it. He was tired of drowning out there alone. He needed help. Or at least to let this venom out of his veins. He trusted Trev, always had. It had only been his own fear holding him back.

So he waited as Trev called a fairly surprised Barris up for wheel watch. Barris wasn’t technically qualified yet, but desperate times and all that. Trev gave Barris the instructions he needed, and the two men made their way down to the deck where Cullen turned his mic pack off before lighting a cigarette with shaking hands and leaning on the rails. “I, ah…” he said, unsure of where to start. “If you don’t mind turning yours off?” The man nodded and did just that, and Cullen sighed, rough and ragged. “I’m sorry, first of all, for the way I’ve been acting this whole damn year. I know I’ve been all over the place, and you have better things to do… more to worry about than me.”

\----

One eyebrow cocked for that, and Trev shook his head, “We’re friends, aren’t we?” he pointed out, “And I’d want to know what was making a friend so upset.” The fact that Cullen was his Deck Boss was secondary for the moment. Sure, he worried about his guys on a functional level, but he cared more about their lives than just what they could do for him. That philosophy had done him well over the last few years, and he wasn’t about to give it up now.

“And don’t apologize,” he went on, “shit happens. Bad shit. Maker knows everyone’s entitled to having a shitty time of it every now and then. Don’t... I worry because we’ve known each other a long time, and if I was in a bad place you’d worry about me.”

\----

Friends. Cullen cringed at that word. They were friends, Trev was right, but Cullen hadn’t been treating him that way. He’d kept secrets - important ones - from the man. Secrets that could have impacted everyone, including his _friend_. Cullen had been selfish, really, now that he thought about it. One more thing to add to the pile, it seemed, and he took a drag off his cigarette, let the nicotine permeate and flow into his veins, before opening his mouth again. “We _are_ friends… but I’ve been keeping something from you,” he admitted, “I thought I could handle it, but now it’s too much, and I can’t. Fuck, I don’t even know where to begin.” He took another draw, inhaled deeply and hitched on the exhale. “I guess it’s simple when you boil it down. I was… ah, shit… I was involved - romantically - with…” he paused, stumbling over a name he hadn’t said out loud in a week. A name that hurt to even think of, let alone speak with his own mouth. “Dorian.”

\----

Okay, so there was the part of him that was genuinely trying not to laugh for a second. Not out of disgust or anything like that, of course not, but because Cullen had _finally_ said the words. There’d been whispers, little bets made here and there, but Trev had been waiting for Cullen to come to him about it. Admittedly, he’d sort of hoped it would happen before it got to this point, but he wasn’t going to say that. Cullen was hurting, obviously, and he wasn’t going to make him feel worse.

“Yeah,” Trev answered, tone completely unsurprised and maybe a little amused, “I know. Or, I guess... I had a feeling.”

\----

“You… know? Who else…” Cullen began to ask the hows and whys, but at this point, he couldn’t even be surprised. Of course. Of fucking course everyone knew the thing he was trying to keep secret because he’d been so terrified it might mean the boat's ruin. It didn’t make him feel better… if anything, he felt smaller, naive. _Stupid_ , he thought, and he shook his head before rubbing a hand roughly over his face.

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally finished in a defeated tone. “It _really_ doesn’t matter… it’s over now. It was dumb and irresponsible and it’s over now.” He laughed, but it was a bitter sound. There was no humor in his eyes. “The whole time we were… I was trying to hide it from you and _them,_ ” he spat out as he jerked his head in the direction of the ever-present stationary camera mounted above them, “And in the end, it didn’t even matter because everyone already knew. You guessed and they knew because… because _he_ wanted them to.” A shaky breath and another pull on that cigarette and he was at the meat of it. “I heard them talking, back in Gwaren, about it. The whole thing, it was just so they could get the _fan favorite_ to open up and boost their fucking ratings. They were telling him it was a brilliant bloody idea and he was asking for _credit_. I couldn’t… I couldn’t believe it, Trev. But I heard it… I heard _him_ … with my own ears, I heard it.”

Cullen took a moment to refocus, find some place of strength, though there was none to be found. He was barely standing as it was - leaning into the rail for support so he didn’t collapse with exhaustion, and it was all just too much. Too much. “In a way, I wish I didn’t know. I wish I still believed him… we spent time together, you know, over break. He stayed with me for a few weeks, and it was… it was good, man. Like he opened my fucking eyes to what living was supposed to be like… and I wish to the Maker that I still had that. Even if it was a pretty lie, it was better than this. It fucking hurts, and I hate it because I felt like a better person and it was like he knew what I needed and he needed me, too, somehow and I just… I… I …”

_What? You what? You know what, and you have for a while… spit it out._

“I love him.” The realization rocked through him, but even as he said it, he knew it was truth. All the murmured whispers of _after_ and plans for the future and the way his heart had sung… and the way it was now pieces on the floor… what other explanation was there? It was love… had been love… but it was over before he’d even admitted it to himself. “Or I loved the man I thought he was.”

\----

While Cullen talked, Trev just leaned against the rail and listened. All this, whatever it was, had been boiling below the surface for a while, and it seemed like Cullen just needed to get it _out_. So he could do that. He could listen and nod and wait for him until he was done.

_I love him_.

That was the difference, though. All the bad shit and then that, and Trev’s eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. He’d had a feeling they had something going on, but he had no idea that it had gotten to that point. Cullen hadn’t known Dorian for very long, not... well, not relatively, but the way he said those words reminded him so much of the first time he’d told Josephine. It was the nerves and the realization and everything else.

“You know,” he began after a long moment, and took a breath, “when you guys are down doing your thing, and I’m up in the wheelhouse, I see a lot of shit. I mean, I’m obviously paying attention to what I’m doing, but I do watch you guys and what you’re doing.”

One hand lifted to run through his hair and to brush through the red ponytail that hung over his shoulder, “and I saw how you two looked at each other. Even at the beginning. There was _something_ there, you know? When you guys were fighting and getting in each other’s faces and everything, there was something there, and I’ll fucking guarantee you that it wasn’t some... act. Neither you nor he’s that good of an actor, believe me.”

He turned and looked at Cullen then, “You’ve been through a lot of shit, man, I know that. Bad shit. And I know it takes a while to... you know, get close to someone. I know that, but you don’t fall in love with someone who's putting on an act. Not you. You’re fucking smarter than that, especially after everything you went through. Your bullshit detector’s probably better than mine, honestly, so... I don’t know. Whatever you heard, maybe it wasn’t what you thought?”

Slowly, one hand reached out and he rested it on Cullen’s shoulder, “but, you know... you know him better than I do. But I know _you_ pretty well, and I don’t think you’d fall for someone like that if there was the possibility they were fucking with you. And if that’s how you feel about it, then maybe you ought to talk to him about it. Even if it’s just to call him on the bullshit and find out for real what it was or wasn’t. Because what you’re doing now with the working yourself stupid and exhausted isn’t helping _anyone_ on this boat.”

\----

While all that was nice to hear, at least on some level, it was wrong. Trev clearly had a higher opinion of Cullen's ability to judge people than he ever deserved. It was laughable, really, when he thought of just how much he'd fucked up in the past under similar circumstances. He'd thought he was in love back then, too, or suspected it in any case. That hadn't run nearly as deep or rung as true as this, not even close, but here he was… wrong and used all over again. In love with a fantasy, a figment of someone else's imagination. Something too good to be true because it wasn't. 

He cracked a cynical smile and snorted, tilting his head back to stare up into the stars. They'd always helped in the past, but they were nothing but cold lights in the dark now. All the magic was gone. He yearned for his spot amongst the twisted roots under _his_ tree deep in the forest, his place of peace, but he was hundreds of miles away… and even that place was tainted with the memory of Dorian now, too.

“I wish you were right,” he finally said, “But I find myself doing a lot of that lately… wishing things were different. It'd be easier if I could just accept them as they are. I did this once before, you know. I thought I knew someone, trusted him. Bent rules for him. But that shit backfired, and so has this.” He swallowed, hard, and gripped the rails, knuckles bloodless and white from the force. “I don't think I can do it, Trev,” he went on, voice dangerously shaky. “I don't think I can look him in the eyes and have to hear it all again… right from him. I'm not… I'm not strong enough. All this… the work… not sleeping… everything’s been so I didn't have to. I'm a coward, really. I'm not made for… for _love_ … and I don't guess I deserve it, either. How could someone like him love someone like me, anyway?”

He stopped there. He had to... to clench his jaw and close his eyes to fight back the wet heat there. A coward he might be, and while they were out there in the middle of the Frozen Sea talking about fucking feelings on a Maker-damned crab boat, he'd be fucked if he was going to do something like _cry_ in front of Trev.

\----

“That’s absolute bullshit, Cullen,” Trev replied, “you’re a good guy who deserves something like that as much as the rest of us.”

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, “look... you can’t keep going on like this. This not sleeping and working yourself to death has to stop, okay? That shit’ll get you into trouble.” The way Cullen stood, the way he talked and how tense he was... it wasn’t good. Trev couldn’t have that on his conscience if something happened to Cullen, and not just because of the situation on the boat. Cullen was a friend, and he wasn’t going to let the man kill himself.

\----

“No, I know,” Cullen sighed. Trev was right, that much had been made painfully obvious. Cullen couldn't defend against the heartache anymore, he was just too fucking tired for it. And even if he could… at what cost? “It's only a matter of time before I miss something or fuck up and someone gets hurt. I can't… I can't let that happen. Not because of me and my shit.” That would just be history repeating itself… and Cullen wasn't sure there'd be any coming back from that. So, he decided - right there on the spot, he decided. “I'm… I'm gonna let Barris take it for a while, if that's ok. Sam and Blackwell don't want it, but Barris is a good guy and smart… and he does want it. He'll do ok… probably better than me… and I'll just… I'll be a deckhand for a while.”

He tried hard, so hard it hurt, to not view that as yet another failure. But fuck, it _was_ \- he had to step down because all this _personal_ drama had left him beaten and hollow - but what other choice did he have? He was officially a danger to himself and others… and he couldn't live with that.

\----

“Hey,” Trev prompted as he turned to lean his hip against the rail, “this shit happening right now? It’ll get better. This is just... it’s something that happens sometimes. Take some time, get your head where it needs to be, and we’ll talk about again. Okay?” Just seeing Cullen in this much pain was hard.

He reached out and grabbed the cigarette out of Cullen’s hand so he could put it out, “but think about talking to him. I know you don’t feel like you can right now, and it might not be time for it yet because it’s fresh, but think about it. If you love him, then you should talk to him. That’s what I think.”

\----

And back to that. Well, he couldn't escape it, could he? The boat was small, and everywhere he looked, he was rewarded with reminders of all that happened. He couldn't stand at the rail without thinking of what happened under the Southern Lights. He couldn't look over into the corner tucked away beside the stairs up to the wheelhouse without thinking of that second kiss. He couldn't walk out into the galley now without the memory of the first time they curled up and really talked competing with the more recent memory of hearing Dorian's voice, flat and cold, agreeing that he was brilliant for how he'd taken Cullen for a ride.

Fuck, he couldn't even lie in his bed any more without that sharp, throbbing pain of loss settling into his bones. _We were so happy… was all of that really an act?_

He nodded at Trev. “Thanks, man. I'm gonna go try and get some sleep, then. And… I appreciate it. May not look like it, but it helped to… to get it out.” That was about all he could commit to. He'd take it as easy as he could for now, get himself better if he could, but he didn't know if that included facing Dorian. Because now that he'd begun asking himself that one question - _could_ all of that been an act - the implications were… awful. Either Dorian had been lying the whole time, and Cullen was fool enough to trust him or Dorian hadn't been lying at all… and Cullen had been fool enough _not_ to trust him.

Either way, he wasn't sure when, or if, he could face Dorian and learn the truth… whatever it was.

Several hours later, after a blessedly dreamless sleep, Cullen emerged out on the deck a different man. Less angry, less intense. Sadder. Slower. A little broken, but still moving.

“Boss on deck,” came the call from Barris as he stepped away from where he'd already been working the hydros for Maker only knew how long. Cullen waved him over.

“No need… she's yours for a while. You're the boss on the deck today,” Cullen told him with a half-hearted smile. “I'm laying back for now.”

“What? You sure, man?”

“Yeah. You're ready, you can do it. Besides, it's been a minute since I've climbed the stack. It'll be good for me.” Cullen's joke fell flat, but at least he tried. He turned to walk away, but whipped around before he'd taken two steps away. “And you run it like _you_ would run it… not like you think I would. Go on then.”

He did move away then, to take up Barris’ spot at the stack with Blackwall who, to his credit, only nodded and grunted “Cullen,” in greeting.

\----

The break had been moderately welcome. Dorian was so tired that he’d dropped off the moment he’d laid his head on the pillow. He didn’t think, didn’t dream, and when he woke up and got dressed to go back out on deck he just... was. Dorian moved by rote, did what he knew he had to do, and picked up his camera and memory cards for the day.

Today... interviews. They needed to happen. But he wouldn’t start with Cullen. Not today. He wasn’t ready for that.

So as he made his way out on deck and watched the crew beating ice and getting things done for picking the string they were steaming toward, Dorian looked around at the others and turned to head for the bait station. Alistair was there, filling and cleaning, and he leaned against one of the posts off to the side.

“You think you have a minute for an interview?” Dorian asked him, “five minutes?”

\----

Worried. Alistair had been in a near-constant state of worry for his friend since the last offload. This whole season had been some sort of weird ass fair ride. He'd call it a roller coaster for the ups and downs, but it had more than a few elements that were reminiscent of a damn tilt-a-whirl - nauseating in the quick shifts and changes. At the heart of it had been Dorian, the first person on this boat who'd reached out to Alistair as an actual friendly face.

So yes, now that that face was drawn in and dull with something that was far more than being tired or sick, Alistair was worried.

“Sure, just… let me check…” His knee jerk had been to immediately go, of course, but walking off deck unannounced was tantamount to treason out here, regardless of who was acting deck boss. “Barris,” he called over to the new man at the helm, “Ok if I leave for an interview real quick?” When Barris nodded, Alistair turned back to Dorian smiling, “Boss says yes… where to?”

\----

“Uh, we can just duck in the ready room,” Dorian offered, though he couldn’t help but cock an eyebrow at the fact that Barris was apparently ‘boss’ for the moment. He’d deal with that in a while, but for now he needed to handle this with Alistair. Five minutes, that’s all he needed.

He led the other man off to the side and quickly hitched the camera up on his shoulder, “Alright,” he began, “So... how’s the season going so far, do you think?”

\----

“Well, the… the _numbers_ are good,” Alistair began, then shook his head, “But that's about all that is.” He gave the camera a sheepish look, knowing full well he was going to be broadcast out into the world… complaining. Complaining about the boat. “Shit’s weird right now. I'm just… I'm just keeping my head down out there, you know.”

A beat passed, and he frowned. This was the first time he'd been alone to actually talk to Dorian in a while, but this wasn't talking was it? This was the man's job, and he had to do it, but Alistair didn't care for that camera right now. Not with the way Dorian had been dragging around lately, not with the way Alistair could see pain around the man's eyes.

\----

“Yeah, I get that,” Dorian answered, “looking forward to, uh... a good count? Since the numbers are so good? Your first year doing all this hard work in the ice and everything would have a good payout waiting at the end, probably, huh?”

Ugh, these questions. They were ridiculous and repetitive. No wonder the guys got so annoyed about it. Dorian didn’t blame them. “How’s dealing with all the ice treating you, by the way? You’re okay?”

\----

Alistair’s brows furrowed at those questions. Well… it wasn't so much the questions as it was the delivery. The questions had always been… dumb. Just ways to get them talking, he knew that, but Dorian had always managed to keep it interesting. Fun. They used to have fun, but now it was deflated - flat and awkward where they used to joke. That unsettled, worried feeling just burrowed itself deeper.

“I'm ok…” he started and then sighed as he twisted to turn his mic off… something he'd seen Cullen do many times before, “Look, Dorian, can we turn that off for a second? I just… this feels wrong. Are _you_ ok?”

\----

Shit. This wasn’t what he wanted to be doing. He was supposed to be doing his job now, not... Maker, things were so fucked up. He was supposed to be able to do this without anything interfering. That was supposed to be how this worked. Now Alistair was turning off his mic, and while the producers hadn’t said anything, there was probably way too much of that happening.

He sighed and lowered the camera. Maker help him. Dorian flicked the camera off and just pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m fine,” he answered, “just... trying to get this done because it has to get done. With all the ice and everything it’s been a bit too busy.”

It wasn’t even a good lie, but fuck it. He didn’t have much other than that.

\----

“Come on, man,” Alistair prompted gently, “Something’s up. You're not… it's not been the same this past week.” Between Cullen tightening up only to let go completely today and Dorian completely tuning out when he didn't have to be on… nothing had been right. “Listen, you don’t have to talk to me… It’s just… you're my friend, and I'm _worried_ about you.”

\----

This _really_ wasn’t where he wanted this to go. It was supposed to be _his_ deal. His own problems. How could he talk to someone else about this insanity? How could he go to someone on the crew and say ‘Oh yeah, I told _Cullen_ I loved him and now he can’t even look at me. Yes, the guy who yells at you regularly. Him’?

Again, Dorian sighed, and he just... dropped himself into one of the chairs. He was so tired. So, so tired. Tired of being there and feeling like he was, tired of being cold and sore, and tired of feeling like literally everything he touched turned to shit. Because it did. Or it felt like it, anyway. His job, his family, now his... now the one relationship that mattered. He wasn’t _good_ enough for it, and Dorian knew it.

“It’s been... a rough week,” he said wearily, “just really _fucking_ rough.”

\----

“Then, hey, why not talk about it?” Alistair answered, face earnest, and leaned forward to squeeze Dorian's shoulder. “Seriously, you've listened to _me_ enough - the fish stinks, the guys stink _worse_ , I'm tired, blah, blah, blah - on camera and off, you know. Try, maybe? It won't hurt anything… and you never know, it might help.”

\----

The last time he’d told someone something, something _important_ , he was setting himself up for failure. He’d told Cullen the most shameful thing in his life, the thing that had essentially destroyed him, and while it was met with care and affection... clearly there was something wrong. Why had he acted that way then? Why had he been so kind and seemingly understanding when they’d talked only for Cullen to essentially dump him less than a month later? Why... why had Cullen been the first one to bring up the idea of a relationship if he was just going to do this? Why?

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Dorian began, then just... fuck, he was so _tired_ of carrying this. “I, uh... met someone a while back. Things were going really, _really_ well and I think I fucked it all up somehow. I don’t know. I told him I loved him, and he just... I got a text just saying ‘I’m done.’ I don’t know,” he explained, “we were really happy and I thought it was better to say it instead of not and apparently I was wrong.”

\----

Oh. Oh, well that would do it, wouldn't it? Alistair remembered the awkward, fumbling attempts he'd made - not to mention all the bad jokes - before he finally found a way to tell the woman who was impatiently waiting for him to come home how he felt about her. All that anxiety, all that lead up… if she'd spurned him, it would have been just devastating. She hadn't, though… but apparently, _this_ guy had with Dorian.

“He _texted_ you?” Alistair asked, face painted with incredulity. “You told him you loved him, he _left_ , and then he texted you? Who the fuck _does_ that?” At some point, late last season and even early this one, Alistair had thought maybe something was up with… well, with Cullen of all people, but surely even _he_ couldn't be that unfeeling.

Except hadn't he been just that all week? Barking orders and yelling and robotic as fuck? Worse than he had been last season, for sure. The timing was… suspect.

“I'm sorry, man. That's rough, it really is. What an absolute asshole this guy must've been.”

\----

“He’s not, not... really,” Dorian answered, “I just don’t know what happened. Things were fine, and then he said he was done.” He shook his head, “after everything, it just doesn’t really make a lot of sense. We talked about a lot of things, a lot of _shit_ , and then this.”

None of it made sense. That was why it hurt. Cullen had been so sweet to him, so good, and then nothing. If they’d _talked_ or if he’d _said something_ then he could understand, but he’d just... he’d put so much in that letter. Sure, it wasn’t out loud, but…

Fuck, what if that was the problem? What if Cullen was angry at him that he’d only written it to him.

“Maybe... I wrote it to him in a letter,” Dorian explained, “maybe that’s why he did it. I don’t know. I didn’t know how else to do it, but maybe that was wrong.”

\----

Alistair shook his head. As presented… it really didn't make sense. “Seems to me… the _way_ it's said shouldn't matter. It’s _what's_ said… or should be, anyway. And in a letter, you know, that’s kinda sweet.” He looked away, blushing a bit. “Gives you something to hold onto when things are shit, right?”

Now… well, what was there to say? It was a shit situation to be in. But Dorian was hurting… and that was hard to watch. Dorian was a good man - the only one who'd shown Alistair any compassion last season. The work had been tolerable only because of Dorian's kindness and wit… and now someone had taken that and thrown it away. But Dorian was saying the guy wasn't an asshole. Huh.

“Maybe when you get back, he'll talk? You know, he'll have had some time to see the error of his ways? If you even want that now.”

\----

“I _wish_ he’d fucking talk to me,” Dorian groused, then blinked when he realized what he said, “I mean... we have before so I don’t know why it would have changed, but when you tell someone you’re _done_ , that’s it. Right?”

And that was the finality of it.

“It’s just put me in a bad place,” he went on, and actually managed a small smile. Bless Alsitair with his smile and his kindness. Sometimes he really was the best thing about this boat. “I’ll be okay,” he sighed, “eventually. You know how it is.”

\----

“There's that smile,” Alistair teased lightly and leaned in to nudge Dorian a bit. “But, listen, seriously… if you need to talk, I'm here. At least as long as Barris is deck boss. Cullen's been a nightmare, if you want the truth... No idea what's going on with him...” Except he did have something of an idea. Cullen's shift into asshole mode had started right around the same time Dorian went flat, actually, and Dorian had just said he _wished_ the guy would talk to him, like whoever it was had an opportunity to do so _right now_ , not a week from now when they were back in town. Pieces were fitting together that Alistair suddenly wished _didn't._

_Hard to respect a guy breaking your back and your friend's heart..._

“But enough about him… grab me if you need to talk. Anytime. I can't help, but I _can_ get righteously indignant and call the guy all sorts of colorfully profane names. Plus… shit… you’re a _good man_ , and you shouldn't have to deal with it alone.”

\----

That actually made him chuckle, and Dorian smiled again, “Thanks,” he told him, and wiped a hand over his face before he looked back down at the camera. They needed to do this interview now, but he actually felt a little better. Ironically. He shouldn’t have, should have kept it to himself, but he couldn’t quite help it. Forever he was Dorian Pavus and talking about his bullshit problems.

“Okay,” he sighed, and hefted the camera back up, “let’s try this again. But better this time, what do you think?”


	26. And Bid Its Angry Tumult Cease [2 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dangerous situation leaves the crew of The Herald in deep water, and tensions boil over on the Frozen Sea.

Hours later, Cullen stood at the top of the dwindling stack of pots he'd been helping Blackwall untie and then hook to the crane arm. Pull the lash loose. Pull another loose. Another. Another. Secure the pot to the crane’s hook. Wait. Do it again. Over and over, a cycle that made time melt away. It was repetitive. Some called it boring. Cullen thought it perfect. He didn't have to think, didn't have to worry. His bruised and battered mind could just… take a fucking rest.

From up there on the stack, he had a good view. The _best_ view. Of the deck, yes, so he saw the comings and goings of the men as they were interviewed one by one, but also of the _world._ The sea and sky stretched out around him, reaching in all directions to the distant horizon. It was wild and open and free. Beautiful and terrible in its power. Now that the string was done, the crew all moved inside for rest or coffee as Trev steamed out to the next area, but Cullen stayed out, standing on the top of the stack and just… being. Flurries fell from the grey sky above, but he stayed out, head tilted up and hands lifted by his side with palms to the sky. He needed that… the moment of peace in the eye of a storm.

A storm. That's what this was. It was awful and had ripped through him… but that was the thing about storms, wasn't it? They blew through and challenged the steadfastness of the heart, but they did eventually pass. And this one would.

_It'll pass,_ he thought as he felt a trail of wet warmth slide down his cheek. _It'll pass._

_Right?_

\----

After that little chat with Alistair, and then a bit with Blackwall and Barris and a bit with Samson to hear a bit more about this whole... Barris as Deck Boss business, Dorian was still feeling a little out of sorts. He’d talked, gotten the interview thing down and out of the way barring Cullen’s. He could... put that off. Maybe he could ask Varric to do him that favor. Maybe. Varric was apparently roped into a bit of this shit, so he was having to be on deck a bit more here and there. Dorian... he needed the help.

So after everyone went in, he stowed his camera in the ready room so he could head for the railing. Really, he felt way too heartsick to feel seasick, but his stomach still tumbled and rolled too badly for him to manage more than some coffee and maybe toast here and there. He just wasn’t hungry. He was tired and sick, and as he lit a cigarette he leaned forward to rest his forehead on the rail. The cigarette hung from his mouth and he just... stayed like that, all hunched over. The camera hurt his back and shoulders after a while of fighting the rolling of the boat, so this was about all he could manage.

That, and he could just hear what Alistair said:

_Who the fuck does that?_

Who indeed? And why did Dorian feel like he deserved it. Maker help him, but he squeezed his eyes shut and tried hard to ignore how his eyes felt hot and wet all of a sudden. He just wanted to be over this. He’d gotten over Rilienus in a matter of hours, hadn’t he? He’d walked away and not worried about it other than the media storm.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian murmured around his cigarette before he pulled it out of his mouth and sniffled, “I’m just so fucking _sorry_.”

\----

Movement on deck caught Cullen's attention, and there he was - the storm. Dorian, though it didn't seem like he'd seen Cullen… yet. The longer he stood up here, open and exposed and trying to… what? Have a spiritual moment? Clear his mind? Well, the moment of clarity was over, and he just felt stupid for standing up there trying to fucking commune with nature. Good thing Dorian hadn't noticed him… _it'd just end up on the show, wouldn't it?_ There came the shit, pushing itself right into the forefront of his mind again

_Did he betray my trust? Or have I betrayed his?_

It was a jumbled mess of shame and anger. It made him ache all over again, heart and body. His head throbbed as he ran his hand roughly over his face and then began making his way carefully down the stack. He didn't want to be caught up there, not in this state. And Maker, he needed a couple of elfroot and some coffee.

Quietly, he moved the length of the deck, eyes focused on the door that would lead to the safety of the galley. His eyes didn't stray, but he was painfully aware of where Dorian stood at the rails, the man's presence a burning beacon in his mind. Cullen wasn't quite even with the man when he heard it, that familiar voice carried back to him on the wind.

_‘I'm just so fucking sorry_.’

And it was like a knife twisted in his heart. Cold steel cutting as it burned for the way Dorian's voice was full of… pain. The shock of it made him stop, and he turned, eyes betraying his own hurt, face painted plainly with the… the _everything_ that ran beneath. Dorian was… _right there_ … his frame outlined against the sea beyond, and Cullen was torn.

_Who's being betrayed here?_

\----

The sound of steps behind him made him lift his head, and Dorian turned to see... Cullen. Of course it would be Cullen. It couldn’t have been Alistair with a cup of coffee or something, now. Why would anything like that ever happen to him? Dorian blinked, studied Cullen’s face, and he so _wanted_ to reach out to him. He wanted to make that pain on the man’s face go away.

But why did Cullen look like he was in pain? He was the one who ended it. Why would he look at Dorian like that?

They stared at each other for a long moment, and Dorian opened his mouth to speak but immediately his _intellectual_ mind kicked over and the words _not for the cameras_ rang out in his head. There was no way he’d talk to Cullen while the man still had his mic on or they were in view of the cameras. No way.

So he took a breath and pushed off the railing, “Don’t look at me like that,” he practically begged before he shook his head, “not where the cameras can see you.” Dorian turned, eyes still burning and stomach sick, and headed for the door inside. He just... he couldn’t deal with this. Not now. Not with Cullen looking like that.

\----

_Isn't that what you want?_

The words were there, but Cullen bit them back as he watched Dorian walk away until he closed the door behind him. Cullen's face was slack… but there was a war waging just behind his eyes.

_Why would he say that if the cameras are exactly what he wanted?_

_He knows. Somehow he knows you heard, and he's trying to win you back over._

_Would he do that though?_

_You're a fool._

That last thought, at least, rang true. He _was_ a fool, standing there slack jawed and indecisive and aching. Vaguely, he realized he'd lifted his hand as Dorian walked away… the part of him that couldn't believe the facts as he understood them, it had reached out to the man. It hadn't wanted him to go like that, had crumbled for the pleading pain that had cracked that usually smooth voice.

_‘Oh yeah. That's what I thought, too.’_

_‘I've never cared about anyone like I care about you.’_

_‘Fuck your writers. They're not getting ahold of this.’_

_‘What about after?’_

_‘You know me. Innovative to the last.’_

All things Dorian had said. Each pulling Cullen in opposite directions, tugging so strongly he was sure he'd would tear in half at any moment for the force.

“No,” he breathed out and shook his head, trying to ease that shearing force. “I'm sorry.”

He was. Whatever Dorian's intentions or who he really was - Cullen was sorry. He wasn't even sure what for, but his mouth tasted bitter with regret.

And then… the next string. Then the next. More of the same work that helped Cullen's mind go blissfully numb. He and Blackwall crawled over the stack, back and forth, until it was gone. Each pot had found its place on the bottom of the sea, but Cullen felt like he was floating. Flying blind in the dark. Tired to the bone again. Weary right down to his soul.

When the work was done, he hung back again, long enough to smoke a cigarette - no looking out and trying to find solace in the sea this time. Cigarette finished, he made his way down to the galley for a cup of coffee to warm him up before bed and, hopefully, sleep while Trev was set to steam back to the beginning of the set.

\----

That moment with Cullen had left him shaken. Seeing the pain on the man’s face... it spurred on something in him that Dorian wasn’t ready to deal with. Part of him wanted to be angry, angry that Cullen would look at him like that. What fucking right did he have to look like Dorian had been the one to hurt _him_? How fucking terrible was that? But... what had it meant? Why would Cullen be in pain? Had Trev... Maker, had Trev found out? Had they told Trev and Trev talked to Cullen? It had all happened so fast, but Cullen had been late, which could have been a meeting with Trev.

Maybe…

There were too many questions. Too many ‘what if’s. Dorian could drowned in ‘what if’ at this point and still have more possibilities to think about it. They gave him headaches, made him want to sleep for the next month and a half, and he was seated at the galley table with his head in his hands. The others had gone to bed already, though Alistair had stayed behind just long enough to nudge Dorian’s shoulder to check on him. He was terribly sweet. That girl he had back home was a lucky one. Surely she had to know how kind a person she had that loved her. Hopefully she did.

One hand groped for his coffee, and Dorian tried to take comfort in the warmth of it in his hand. He was still freezing cold, still shivering though he’d been inside for a little bit, and he just wanted to be somewhere else. He wanted to be somewhere warm where these problems didn’t matter. Just... anywhere but here.

Dorian lifted his head and sipped his coffee as he stared off into the middle distance. His mind was both whirling and oddly calm, like he had too many thoughts to keep any one of them in his head for too long, and for the moment he just couldn’t focus. All Dorian could do was just stare and try to keep his hands warm.

\----

_Coffee then bed. Coffee then bed._

That was the only thought whirling around in Cullen's brain as he walked down the set of stairs to the galley. Coffee, then bed for a few hours before he had to relieve Trev at the wheel. That, at least was still part of his duty. At least until Barris was fully licensed, and then Cullen would be extraneous. Unwanted, really, considering the way the crew had warmed up to Barris' leadership. They'd ribbed him, of course they had, but they'd followed. Happily.

So. Unwanted as the deck boss and unwanted as a lover. That was Cullen. What was left for him now? Hot acid churned in his stomach with that lovely thought, and he amended his list to just bed.

He entered the galley, lost a little in his own head. It was a messy, overfull place these days when he wasn't working. Cluttered with confusion. Opposing arguments. Self pity and self loathing.

But he wasn't alone.

_Look at that. He knew you were still up there and waited for you just to get you alone. Don't fall for it just because you're feeling sorry for yourself._

_For fuck’s sake, he's doing the same thing you were going to do. Talk to him._

_Talk to him._

He stood there, just like that moment hours ago, staring silently as his mind worked. Unguarded if only for the fact that it took too much energy to even try any more. He never had much of a poker face on good days… and he hadn’t had one of those in what seemed like a very, very long time.

_Words. Make them. Something, anything. Or shit, fucking keep walking. Don't just stand here looking like an idiot._

“No cameras down here,” he commented voice cracking over the words. Since that night with Trev, since handing everything over to Barris, he hadn't had much to say to anyone, and his voice sounded tired and alien to his own ears. He wasn't sure if what he'd said was an invitation to talk or a challenge. He wasn't sure of much any more, if he was honest with himself.

He was sure, though, that he couldn't take much more of this. They'd be back in Gwaren soon, but there'd be one more trip after that… and the thought of _this_ for two more weeks was torture.

\----

He’d been so out of it that Dorian didn’t hear anyone come down. It was that voice that shocked him out of his stupor, and he blinked a few times behind his glasses before he looked up. And... again, like before, Cullen was standing there. Standing there and staring at him and looking rather pitiful, if Dorian was honest. He probably didn’t look too much better for all the moping that had been happening, which he hated, but it was strange to see Cullen like this. What was he even playing at with all this? First, he told Dorian he was done, and now he was leering at him every chance they had. It didn’t make sense.

Dorian opened his mouth to speak once, but nothing came out, and he picked up his mug to take a sip. There was a part of him that wanted to say something acerbic and dripping in sarcasm, but the look Cullen was giving him was almost too much for his heart. So what did he do? What did he say? “No,” he answered, then focused on his cup, “no cameras.”

Great.

“Thank the Maker.”

\----

Again, Cullen didn't understand. It didn't make sense, based on what he'd heard with his own two ears. Dorian wanted the cameras to catch any contact they had… didn't he? The thought that maybe he was telling Cullen what he wanted to hear surfaced, but as he looked into that face - the face that had once smiled for Cullen, a smile that had made Cullen feel _special -_ the misery painted was… Maker, it was _real_. Which begged the question…

“Why?” he asked, brows knit together in confusion and frustration. “I thought you wanted…”

But before he could finish that question, another voice came from the hallway that led to the rooms. “Forgot my coffee,” Alistair announced, and stopped short when he saw Cullen standing there. His eyes narrowed, just slightly, and his voice went… well, not _cold_ , not really. It went… careful. “Cullen,” he said and nodded curtly.

“Alistair,” Cullen answered. “Enjoy your coffee. I'm for bed.” And he started on his way, unsure of how he should feel about anything any more. It was just… it was all fucked.

\----

Dorian watched Cullen go, and then looked up to meet Alistair’s eyes. That was... weird. He just shrugged, unsure of even what to say, and he sighed as he sipped his coffee again. It seemed Alistair saved him from something awkward, but at the same time Dorian had rather wanted Cullen to just _spit it out_. Whatever was making him make those sad eyes at him, Dorian wanted to know _why_. He wanted to know _why_ for so many things.

“Maker, this is ridiculous,” Dorian complained softly as he shook his head, “I don’t... this whole thing is fucked.”

\----

Cullen closed the door behind him, then turned to rest his head against the cool wood. Nothing made any sense any more and he was just… he was so tired. On some level, he wondered if the physical exhaustion and stress of the job had ratcheted this whole thing up and intensified it. On another level, it hardly mattered any more. It was what it was.

“Fucking bleak,” he muttered as he turned and eyed his bed. It was a cold, lonely place now. But that's all he was fit for - cold, lonely places. He'd known that now for, what, almost ten years? He'd squared with that, was ok with it, since his wounds had scarred over after Kirkwall. But now... now, he'd known warmth, he'd known comfort and closeness and _love_ , and to have all that ripped from him so violently with only a few overheard words… it was cruel. It was worse than never having had it at all, and he wasn't dealing with it well.

“Well, there's a fucking understatement,” he snorted derisively. Wonderful. Now he was talking to himself. He was losing it, had already lost it with all the back and forth in his mind… not to mention the few short, contradictory words he'd heard from Dorian. He thought back to the conversation with Trev - _maybe it wasn’t what you thought_ and _neither you nor he’s that good of an actor_. At the time, Cullen hadn't been open to hearing it, but Maker, what if he was right?

_Then I've let fear control me and completely fucked everything good right into the Void, that's what._

Something… something had to give. And soon. Talking to Trev and stepping back from his duties on deck had helped a bit, though even that relief had been bittersweet. But as soon as the work was over, here he was again. Miserable and questioning everything, wanting to do what he'd done for the past month when he needed solace. Wanting Dorian. Dorian with his bright, caring eyes and gentle touches that turned rough in the best ways. Kisses that neither he nor Dorian had seemed to want to end. Comfortable silence and sweet nothings murmured in the dark of night. The strength to be weak, vulnerable. The trust that it would be ok.

But that's what had been broken, that trust. Either by Dorian, if what Cullen had heard was true, or by Cullen for believing it in the first place.

“What a fucking mess,” he sighed as he stripped down and crawled in bed. At least he was tired enough that he dropped off into sleep before the covers had even settled over him.

Sirens in the night. Blaring. Awful. Something was wrong. Something in the engine room. Cullen was awake and on his feet immediately, brain sizzling with electricity and completely clear of everything except the thought - _danger_. But that danger brought him to life. That  questioning and self-pity from before had absolutely no purchase in his mind now. He took only the time needed to pull on his boots, then moved with a purpose in only sweat pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt down the hall and to the stairs that led down deeper into the boat before anyone else had left their rooms… save Samson. Samson was already down there, thigh deep in freezing water and cursing for it.

“Cullen… It's not the engine. I’ll be fucked if I know what’s wrong.”

“A leak? Is the hull breached?”

“Did you say there's a _hole_ in the _boat_?” A voice from the stairs asked, and it was shaking more than a bit with fear. Alistair. Cullen noted the man’s too-pale face and how he was wide-eyed with near panic.

“Well, Maker’s balls, I hope not, otherwise we’re in for a cold night,” Samson replied as he stared down at the water that was steadily rising around them. “Oh, shit… this is bilge water…”

“The pumps,” Cullen and Samson said at the same time before Cullen added, “Check all the pumps. Maybe one’s gone out…”

“All of ‘em’d have to be out for this much water…” Samson replied, “Shit’s unlikely, but I’ll go check.”

Cullen nodded and turned back to the stairs. By now, Alistair had been joined by Barris, Blackwall, and… Maker help him, Dorian.

_No time for that._

He waded back to the men, moving, of all things, a head of lettuce out of the way. In fact, most of their produce had fallen from the boxes they stored it in. Everything from apples to onions was now bobbing up and down in the filthy bilge water that had risen even in the short time they’d been standing there.

_Lovely. The world's most disgusting soup..._

“Alistair, grab the phone on the wall next to the engine and report to Trev. Tell him there’s a problem with the bilge pumps. We’re sorting it and will check back in five minutes. _Less than._ Blackwall, you’re with Samson. Help him make sure the pumps are all working. Barris, go make sure the survival suits are ready and accounted for, check the life rafts, then get back here.”

Cullen hesitated, looked first at Alistair and then at Dorian. “Just in case, ok? We’ll be fine,” he said in a softer, hopefully reassuring tone before waving his hands at the men on the stairs. “Go on, go.”

All that floating debris had given him an idea, though, and as the men scattered, Cullen stepped down into the little recess that ran along the hull wall where the three bilge pump intakes were evenly spaced. The water there was nearly waist deep and freezing, and Cullen hissed through chattering teeth as he waded to where he knew the nearest intake valve was under all that icy water.

\----

Those alarms were possibly the worst way to be pulled out of sleep. At first, he thought it was an alarm on his phone, but no amount of knocking had turned it off, then... shit. Real alarms. Real emergency alarms. Dorian’s heart was pounding hard in his chest, and he had only half thought to pull on something more than a pair of underpants and a t-shirt before he got up to see what the situation was.

And oh, the situation. Dorian’s eyes widened the more Cullen spoke and sent everyone on their jobs. Everyone but him, he only half noted, like maybe he didn’t trust Dorian to do whatever it was he said? Something like that. Then something nudged his elbow, Varric’s camera, and he he was nudging Dorian down to where the others were, “Go get down there and help, Sparkler. That water’ll be over my head in a minute... I’ll handle this.”

Great.

So Dorian made his way down and let out a gasp as he stepped down into the rising water. Maker help him. He’d been splashed and sprayed by the water on deck before, soaked, but not _in_ it like this. Suddenly all the training in that gross “Community Center” made so much more sense. He wouldn’t last long in this water and he knew it. So... they had to fix this. They would, of course they would, because Samson was some sort of boat-whisperer and Cullen would do his utmost to keep everyone safe and okay, but the fear was still churning in his gut nonetheless.

He sloshed his way up to Cullen who was bent down and practically had his head underwater, “What can I do?” he asked loudly over the sound of engines and water and everything else, “Let me help!”

\----

When he was sure he was over the intake, he bolstered himself for half a second and ducked down. The water was under his chin, _fucking freezing_ , and he could already feel his fingers becoming stupid and slow. Still, he felt around blindly until his hand knocked against the little lip of metal he was seeking and there… yes, there it was. Samson was right, those pumps were unlikely to fail all at once… they were working just fine, but they were clogged by pieces of all that fruit and veg floating in the water.

_We can fix this. No one's going down tonight._

His soul practically sang with that knowledge, but there were three intakes that were likely gunked up, and he was just one man who was already feeling that cold right to his bones. He needed help… he needed…

Dorian.

Cullen's head whipped up in surprise at the sudden presence by his side. Maker-sent, he was. Just what Cullen needed, when Cullen needed it.

_He jumped in. He really jumped in this water._

Whether that was part of the steel Cullen had sensed in him or out of fear for his own neck, he'd done the right thing. But that was something to parse through later. Later, when they were warm and safe. Now was _not_ the time.

Cullen stood and nodded, leaned over closer so Dorian could hear him, and grabbed his hand, “Brace yourself,” he warned and pulled Dorian down with him, guiding his hand to the clogged intake near the floor. “Feel that?” When Dorian nodded, Cullen smiled, just briefly, and pulled them both up again. A cold, rough hand rested on Dorian's shoulder and pulled him closer so Cullen could speak into his ear without screaming. “It's the intake for the bilge pumps, and it's clogged,” he explained, quickly gesturing at all the debris floating in the water with his other hand. “I need you to clear it. These pumps are damned strong, so watch your fingers. When it's clear, _get out_ of this water and _get warm_ , ok? _Then_ , and _only_ if you can still move, start getting all this shit out of the water so we don't have to jump back in. This cold is no joke… get out as soon as you can, alright?”

\----

“Okay,” Dorian answered without a second thought. The water was so cold, he was shivering a little already, and now he was completely soaked. This was... well, it was gross first of all, but completely terrifying second of all. That fruit and vegetables could cause this much trouble was ridiculous, but Dorian did as he was told and bent down with his arm under the water to pull lettuce leaves, onions, apples, and only the Maker knew what else out of the pump intake. Mostly, he was trying not to think about it, since the frigid water stole pretty much everything, from his breath to his ability to think.

It took a while and a lot of bending at awkward angles before Dorian finally started to feel things moving around and the pump was actually able to do its job. There was a lot of shit in the way, though, and his arm ached. Finally, though, when he ducked his hand down and swirled it, there didn’t feel like there was anything else, so he stood back up and looked around. Cullen had been working on another pump, which he’d seemingly cleared, and was working on another one. Good. At least least he’d been able to help somewhat.

Except Cullen was pale and trembling. Dorian could see it from where he was standing. He was pale and his lips were nearly white. That... that wasn’t good. So he waded over and got on the other side of the pump intake so he could start pulling shit away. They both needed out of the cold water as soon as possible, and they weren’t going to get that if he just stood there and made Cullen do most of the work.

Thankfully, that one was mostly clear anyway, and by the time he got over to it there were only a few things that needed clearing. Grey eyes lifted then, and he took in the sight of Cullen’s quivering lips and shaking shoulders, and he reached out to touch Cullen’s arm, “Come on!” he shouted, “You need to get out of this before you end up getting sick.”

\----

After giving Dorian his task, Cullen scanned the hold for someone else to help, but no one had come back yet. By his estimation, it had only been a minute, maybe two, but in that frigid water, every second counted. And even if Dorian cleared that first intake in record time, that was only one functioning pump. For this much water, they needed all three working before there was too much water for the pumps to handle in time before this hold filled. And if the hold filled… The Herald was in serious danger of rolling with the next strong gust of wind.

No, there wasn't anyone else. He and Dorian would have to do it alone. Cullen pushed on with legs that felt like lead, heavy and barely responsive. He had the presence of mind to keep his hands above water as he made the walk to the second intake, so at least _something_ on his body worked. Taking a deep breath, he sunk down into the murky water again, found the intake, and pulled layer after layer of shit out. As soon as he felt the suction kick in, he stood… or tried to. His legs were freezing up, refusing to obey, and he stumbled a bit. Jaw clenched to keep it from chattering, he half walked, half pulled himself down to the third intake.

Again, he went down, and his hands found the opening. Numb fingers began pulling detritus out as Cullen squeezed his eyes closed and prayed. But then, thankfully, another hand had joined his and was helping. Barris or Samson, he assumed, but didn't look. He just kept pulling soggy vegetables out of the pump until it was done.

And then that someone was touching his shoulder and telling him to get out, and amber eyes widened as he realized - Dorian never got out of the water. Damn it, did the man want to freeze to death? He needed to take care of himself. He needed to _be ok_.

“I'm _fine_. You were supposed to get out when you were done. This isn't _safe_ ,” Cullen said, trying to sound firm but failing miserably… his teeth were chattering so violently, it came stuttering out through shivers. He wanted to stand, to get Dorian out of this water, but his legs didn't listen to him and the boat rolled, and he was knocked off balance. Under he went, just for a moment, and he felt fingers of fear at the edge of his mind as he reached out for Dorian’s arm to keep from going under again.

\----

Maker help him. Dorian immediately reached out a hand as Cullen lost his footing. His own teeth were chattering violently too, and he found it hard to move. His body was slow and sluggish, but he managed to grab Cullen’s hand and half haul him to his feet, “I’m not making you do all this yourself,” he hissed and carefully slung Cullen’s arm across his shoulders. They were both trembling, and Dorian nodded toward the door, “let’s at least get into something dry, alright?”

One hand held Cullen at his hip, and Dorian practically tucked him as close as possible so they could walk, “And it’s hardly safe for _you,_ so don’t even start with me.”

\----

“I wasn't starting with you,” Cullen answered through trembling lips and labored breathing. “I just didn't want you to get hurt.” He let Dorian lead him the short distance to the steps, where he collapsed into a tired, shivering heap. It would be ok there until he had the energy to head up the stairs and to his room for warmth and dry clothes.

Besides, he had to stay long enough to tell the rest of the crew to round up all those fucking vegetables.

\----

“No, you weren’t, but you _would have_ ,” he pointed out. Dorian kept a decent hold on Cullen until he fell over, and Dorian all but fell to his knees with him. One hand lifted to run through Cullen’s hair, and Dorian sighed, “Maker, you’re frozen. Those wet clothes are going to make you catch your death.”

He looked up at Varric for a moment, then sighed, “Towels... big towels,” Dorian mused, “where would those be?”

\----

Despite the cold and the heavy exhaustion that descended as soon as the immediate danger was over, despite the intense rocking of the boat that Cullen could feel now that the adrenaline was leaving his veins… despite all that, the feeling of fingers carding through his hair and that voice, soft and sighing in his ears… they got through. They got through to him, and it made him feel like, for the moment, the time since they'd left Gwaren had been a bad dream. It couldn't have been real, right? Dorian was there and so close and touching him, and what Cullen wanted was to touch him back. Hold him. Warm him up and draw warmth from him in return. For how _sharp_ his mind had been while the danger was imminent, it was hazy and buzzing now. Thick and tired in a way that made everything seem a little unreal, and he chuckled at Dorian's admonition as he began to raise a hand to him.

But then Dorian glanced up and behind them, and Cullen turned to follow his gaze and see… a camera. A camera pointed right at them, filming. His heart dropped, and that terrible focus came back to his mind. None of this had been a bad dream… bad, yes, decidedly so, but not a dream.

_Is he playing up to the camera now of all times? For fuck’s sake, we were in actual trouble. Ratings. Is that all I ever was?_

He stiffened, and the smile that had formed slid right off his face as it went stern and hard. “You know where they are,” he answered coldly. “Go film yourself getting them. You won't get any more out of me.”

Samson and Blackwall waded back into the room, huffing and red faced.

“It's not the pumps,” Samson announced, then pulled a surprised face that would have been comical had Cullen not been seething. “Fuck me, the water's down!”

“It is,” Cullen replied curtly. “Intakes were clogged. All the food’s what did it. When the other guys get back, tell them to clean this place up - I'm going to get changed.”

With that, he rose, still unsteady, and stumbled roughly past Varric. “Your _entertainment’s_ going to bed. So sorry,” he shot back as he went, swaying with the rocking of the boat.

\----

That cut through him like a knife. So much so that Dorian didn’t even hear Cullen talking to the others. For a moment it had been like before, and when Cullen smiled, it seemed like things might have actually been okay for a second. Just a second. And then Cullen was practically hissing at him, and Dorian felt colder than he did for the water. What... what even was that?

He watched Cullen get up and go, and for a moment, he couldn’t even move. All he could do was sit there and shiver and watch the man he loved _walk away_ from him. It was a punch to the stomach teamed with the twisting of a knife, and he just blinked for a second before he lifted his head to meet Varric’s eyes. The dwarf just shook his head and set the camera down before he helped pull Dorian to his feet.

“Small boat, Spark-”

“Shut up!” Dorian snapped over his shoulder as he stomped, as best he could, to his room to grab something that wasn’t freezing cold and clinging to him.

He threw things around, quickly layered up, and pulled the door open. That was _it_. Maybe it wasn’t the best time, but _fuck it_ , Dorian was done with this. He didn’t grab a camera. He didn’t grab anything, and just made for the deck. The boat was pitching and rolling, something he’d missed in all the excitement, but he couldn’t be down there any more. He could brave the deck at least a little bit if it meant clearing his head and if he was sick, then it didn’t matter.

Done. He was absolutely done. Fuck him. Fuck Cullen. Just _fuck him_. After everything... and that was how he was going to act? Dorian was _done_.

\----

No more back and forth. No more questioning. To use something like that, something that could have ended so fucking tragically for a shot at a ratings boost? Unforgivable. As Cullen fought to get out of wet clothes - a daunting task at any time, but The Herald seemed to be fighting him, too - he replayed that little look Dorian gave Varric over and over again.

_Did you get that?_ It said. _Are you rolling? This is gold._

“Fuck!” he hissed as he stumbled pulling those sopping sweatpants off. He fell, hard, to one knee, and that was the jolt that brought him back to himself. The boat wasn't just rocking, it was rolling and pitching and that was… not good. Suddenly, the overturned containers of food made more sense. 

_When it rains, it pours_ , he thought bitterly and finished dressing in record time before he shot out the door. Back to the stairwell he'd just left.

“I need you guys up top,” he yelled down, “She's rolling - we need to secure the deck!”

To their credit, the crew didn't even bat an eye. They finished cleaning up the rest of the produce and stumbled right up to grab more layers and jackets as Cullen went on out to the deck. The sea was… angry. That was the only word for it - it boiled and crashed as the wind gusted and broke over the boat. Cullen had weathered worse seas with Trev, but this was bad enough.

So, he spared a moment to breathe, calm his already jangly nerves, then moved with quick, determined strides to the hydros so he could pull the crane arm back to fold in on itself.

Aa he worked, the rest of the crew came out, moving just as purposefully as Cullen had to their respective areas, making sure everything was lashed and bound so The Herald _and_ her equipment could ride out this winter squall.

\----

And then, of course, his moment was ruined. Dorian was leaned up against a wall, mostly trying to stay upright with the rolling of the deck and the rolling of his stomach, but he was enjoying the relative quiet. It made him even more angry. It made him _so_ angry that he actually saw black at the edges of his vision. It was like being in a tunnel. That was what his life had come down to, tunnel vision on a boat as his stare set hard on Cullen working on deck.

They were securing things. He’d noticed how the sorting tables rolled, how boxes had overturned, but it hadn’t meant anything to him. Now they were working, and he pushed himself off the wall to lean against a post and just _watch._ No camera. The stationary ones could have this. He didn’t care any more. Fuck all of it.

Dorian was well and truly done.

He watched Cullen get the hydros secured. He watched him check and recheck it, and for a moment he genuinely wanted to go up and just _hit him_. He wanted to punch him, scream at him. Dorian felt his muscles burning with the want to move and do something. _Anything_.

It seemed the sea picked up on that, too, because the boat rolled again and sent him staggering…

Straight into Cullen’s back.

\----

Satisfied that the crane arm was safe, Cullen was getting ready to go help Alistair lock down the bait station when he felt a sharp pressure hit him square in the spine. Pain lit up his brain like a firework in the night, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. Something was loose, something hadn't been tied down. He turned, ready to grab whatever it was that had run into him…

But there wasn't a box or barrel or table. There was… _fuck_ … Dorian.

“What the _fuck_?” he yelled in surprise and anger, “You didn't get enough on film downstairs, you have to come up here and try again? Have some decency - we're in trouble up here, and you're _in the way_.”

He pushed past Dorian, meaning to go help Alistair. Later. Later he'd break this silence with Dorian and just let him have it for this stunt. It was one thing to have quietly manipulated Cullen, but to _still_ be doing it when just being on deck was dangerous? This was beyond reason. Far beyond reason, and it had to end.

\----

As if that line on the stairs wasn’t bad enough. Now Cullen was _yelling_ at him. No. No more.

“Maker _fuck_ me for standing somewhere!” he shouted back, and slapped Cullen’s hands away from him before he got up in his face, “And FUCK YOU, alright? Just FUCK YOU!” He still so wanted to hit Cullen. He wanted to punch him until he didn't have any strength left, just to make him shut up.

Dorian pointed at him, “Can you just forget about the cameras for five FUCKING seconds?” he hissed, “I don’t fucking have one! Do you see me with one? Because I don’t HAVE one! Go fucking do what you have to do, alright, but don’t you DARE fucking talk to me like YOU haven’t been the one acting like an ARSEHOLE since we left town, you bloody bastard!”

\----

Had he thought he was going to do this later? Fuck that, Cullen was doing this _now._ Right there on the boat as it was tossed by waves and winds. Right there on the deck in front of the men who had stopped working and turned to watch this melodrama unfold. This was happening. Cullen had no more control over it than he had control over the wind that was, at this very moment, having its way with them.

“Fuck _me_? _I'm_ the asshole? Oh that's nice, that's perfect,” He laughed bitterly and opened his arms wide, as if to say _look at this shit, will you?_ “Listen here, you fucking prick,” he hissed as his eyes narrowed and his voice went cold, “I know about the deal with your scumbag producers. Stupid as fuck to talk about it on the Maker-damned boat, wasn't it? I know about your brilliant scheme to flirt with the the fucking _fan favorite_ , get it on camera, fucking _sell that shit_. Sell _me._ They're gonna give you _credit_ , right?” That cold voice broke then, and the anger turned into something else, something that fucking _hurt_. His chest felt like it would collapse in on itself if he continued. Yet on he went. The levee had broken, and he had to just… just get it out. The rest of the world was a dull roar. The storm… barely there. There was just Cullen and Dorian and anger and pain. “You were _using_ me. And I fell for it. More the fool I, right? I fell for it _again._ And you even… I fucking told you what happened to me at Kirkwall, and you still kept on, didn't you?”

His jaw clenched, and that anger surged back up with that thought. “Just tell me one thing,” he said, and his voice was calm, though there was so much more under it, barely restrained. He straightened up and looked Dorian in the eye, “Was any of it… _any of it_ … real?”

\----

Listening to Cullen, not to mention being on the boat at the moment, was like being on a rollercoaster. They were tossing and rolling, and Cullen’s words made Dorian’s anger spike white and hot before it melted away in painful realization. It was like his heart had stopped, and he clenched his hands in a fist.

Cullen had heard him talking. He’d heard that whole conversation, listened to him, and then... what? Thought that he wasn’t worth it and fucking _dumped_ him? He’d told the man he _loved_ him. And even _that_ wasn’t enough to prove that it was real? What the fuck else was he supposed to do? Jump through a flaming hoop? What else would it _take?_

“Would I have fucking told you I loved you if it _wasn’t real_? Are you serious?” he demanded, “not that it matters now. Why I ever thought it is fucking BEYOND me. After everything I’ve said, everything I’ve DONE, you think I’d actually do that to you? Really?

He shook his head and stumbled a bit as he reached out a hand to rest it on the wall behind them, “I told them I refused to be part of that bullshit. You KNOW I did if you were fucking listening to that conversation. I said I’d rather quit than use you like that, and if it meant my job, then so fucking BE IT. But no, that’s not _good_ enough for you, is it? You really think so little of me? Even AFTER I fucking... told you _everything_? Even after I basically poured my fucking heart out and gave it to you? You think I’d DO that?”

Maker, he was practically frothing at the mouth now, “I would _never_ do that to you. Ever! You _know_ that!” Dorian shouted, “And then you text me like some dumpy teenager that you’re DONE and don’t even bother trying to talk to me? FUCK YOU! Just FUCK YOU! Get off your fucking high horse, pull your head out of your arse, and just... how could you even _ask_ me that!”

\----

_He loved me?_ Cullen's mind hung on that one phrase as Dorian ramped up, intensified while his argument drew out. _He loved me and now he's done._

But… something like that… Cullen would remember that. That was something he'd have locked up in his heart to hold onto forever. If what they'd had was, in fact, real… he wouldn't have let that precious knowledge go. It would have been treasured, remembered. All he had was… all he had was ashes and venom now.

“You never said that,” Cullen started, voice small and hoarse before shaking his head and repeating himself in a stronger tone. “You never told me you loved me. That's… that didn't happen. What did happen… what I heard from your mouth, in your voice was _I agree_ and _I'm so innovative_ and _your writers can't have this._ All I heard was them praising your _edgy_ choice, and you thanking them. That was… that was enough. That was more than enough, so I left… before it… before it could hurt _worse._ ”

If what Dorian was saying was the truth… Maker help him, here he was… and it definitely hurt worse.

\----

“So you only listened to half of it before you wandered off and decided to blame me for it?” Dorian deadpanned, the same tone he’d used with the producers, “because I wasn’t _agreeing_ , alright? What you heard was me being _sarcastic_.” He’d stopped shouting now, and just shook his head, “I told them I wouldn’t do that to you. I refused. They weren’t happy, but I refused. I thought it was disgusting that they’d even _suggest_ that shit to me. So maybe you didn’t _hear_ that part after you stormed off or whatever it was, and decided to try to fill in the blanks and have absolutely _no_ trust in me. At all, apparently.”

He shook his head, “And no, I didn’t say it. I _wrote_ it. You fucking _read_ it,” Dorian accused him, “It was all right there in black and white, and apparently that’s not even good enough. You _know_ why I wouldn’t have said it to you. Not here. You know why? For the same fucking reason you’re accusing me of using you. I wouldn’t put that out there here where _anyone_ could hear it and use it against you or me. Or whatever they’re going to do. So I wrote it because I wanted you to _have it._ ”

The boat rolled hard again then, and Dorian clenched his teeth as he tried to stay upright. This was almost worse than that knife feeling in his stomach earlier. This was... Cullen genuinely thought so little of him that he would think Dorian would do that. How awful a person was he that Cullen would jump to that? How awful did he have to be that Cullen wouldn’t even bother trying to talk to him about it?

“I told you I loved you and you said you were done. I’m not good enough for you. After _everything_ I thought that maybe, just fucking _maybe_ , you might feel the same way. I was wrong. And _you_ were wrong about whatever the fuck you think you heard. There. All resolved.”

\----

_The note._

Cullen's stomach fell to his feet and his heart stopped. It just fucking stopped dead in his chest as he listened. He heard Trev’s voice again - _maybe it's not what you thought_ \- and the part of him that had argued all along against the anger and exhaustion and heartbreak and _not talking_ _about it_ was vindicated. It wasn't happy, but it was vindicated.

He rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair. The day had started fucked, was _continuing_ to be fucked, and Cullen just wanted to slink away to be sick and lonely - like he apparently deserved - in the privacy of his own room.

“I didn't read it,” he said, all traces of anger gone, replaced by defeat. Resignation. _I deserve this_. “I didn't find it until after I heard you talking, and I just… I didn't read it… and I couldn't keep listening after I heard what I heard, and I couldn't say anything later because… I thought I was angry, but Maker, I was terrified. I just saw history repeating itself, and I couldn't move forward, but I couldn't move back, either.”

_I'm not made for it - for love. I guess I don't deserve it, either._

His own words echoed back at him. Trev had called it bullshit, but as the story unfolded before him and he learned the depth of what he'd done… Cullen called it truth. If all he could do was hurt and only believe the worst of the person he said he _loved_ … he _didn't_ deserve it.

“I was wrong. I don't... I dont deserve your love... I never will, and it doesn't matter that I love you. I'm too fucked up... Scarred. You’re right to be done.” And oh, that hurt. It hurt to know that everything Dorian had said was the truth. It hurt that, on some level, Cullen had _known_ the way he was acting was bullshit. But he did it anyway. He let that fear control him, he let the fear shout over the rational part of his mind, and this was where it got him.

Red eyes that stung hot slid away from Dorian's face - how could he look the man in the eye after all that? Ridiculous. Better to look at the sea and know that its anger, like Dorian's, was justified. Fitting. “Dorian, I'm…” but that's all he got out before his mind registered something horrifying - something terrible and deadly bearing down on them. Amber eyes widened, rimmed with fear and finality.

The sea had been rough. The wind had been high. But this? This could end them, down to the last man. All of them swept away into the arms of the sea.

Time slowed down. Time sped up.

“ROGUE WAVE!” Cullen bellowed to the men on deck as Trev’s voice came over the loudspeaker. Cullen didn't hear what he said, it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was…

_Keep him safe. Keep him safe. Whatever happens to you, you keep him safe._

A heartbeat, and Cullen was grabbing Dorian's arm.

Another, and he was shoving Dorian back into a protected corner behind a post.

One more, and he was yelling, “HOLD ON,” as he wrapped Dorian's arms around that post.

Another, and he moved to find his own safety.

But there weren't any more heartbeats left. Out of time, the wave barrelled down on him with all the power of nature. His fingers brushed steel, he felt the rough surface of the rails - of safety - under them, and then everything was freezing and falling. His head hit… _something…_ he didn't know what it was, he didn't even know which way was up and which was way down. There was no time to wonder as the boat rolled and his body was tossed across the deck. Tumbling, freefalling with the crushing weight of the sea’s unforgiving fury behind him, he struck the retaining wall on the other side of the deck, and everything was just…

Black.


	27. And Bid Its Angry Tumult Cease [3 of 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen finds himself at a dark crossroads while Dorian wrestles with the situation at hand and seeks resolution for questions left unanswered.

The world flipped upside down. Or, at least, that’s what it felt like. Dorian had been on his feet and listening to Cullen, and then he was nearly on his arse and there was water fucking _everywhere_. The boat felt like it did a fucking flip, and Dorian’s head knocked against the pole his arms were around hard enough that he saw white and stars. Thankfully, his survival instinct had kicked in enough that he didn’t let go of the pole, but that didn’t stop a bunch of shit from flying off the shelves in that little alcove and on top of him. It was like a fucking nightmare.

He was dazed. Dazed _hard_ , and everything was quiet for a moment as he blinked a few times to clear his vision. His head hurt. Badly. Honestly, he didn’t know what had even happened. Cullen had been there, then not, and then there was shouting. Lots of shouting. Trev over the speaker, Cullen, the others. They were garbled in his head, and he lifted one hand to press against his forehead. It hurt. It hurt, and when he pulled his hand away, there was blood staining the wet material of his gloves. They were dark, but the stain was darker. He swore, pressed his hand back over whatever wound was there, and tried to steady himself. That pole was hard, but his head seemed to be harder.

“Man down!” Samson shouted, and Dorian frowned as he saw the spindly engineer duck out from where the bait station was over to the other side of the deck.

“Where’s Cullen?” Trev demanded over the speaker, “I can’t see him!”

“Here!” Samson shouted, and immediately Barris and Blackwall ran over to join him kneeling on deck.

Cullen. Where was Cullen? He’d been right _there,_ and then he’d felt Cullen’s hands on him. For a second, he'd thought Cullen meant to hit him or something, but...then the world had upended itself. Now he was...  _shit_.

There was a wet Cullen-sized heap on the deck, and Dorian struggled to his feet. He was still dazed, and he stumbled closer. “Where is he?” he asked, “is he okay?” He was stumbling, and when he pulled his hand away he could feel a wet trickle of blood coming down with the water that dripped from his hair. Maker help him, it felt like there was an ice pick buried in his skull right there. Still, the only thing he could think about, beyond the blinding pain and the way the world was a bit black around the edges, was Cullen. "Let me see him-"

“Get back!” Barris shouted at him then turned back to where Blackwall and Samson were trying to rouse Cullen.

“Rutherford!” Samson shouted as he leaned over to listen to his chest, “can you hear me? Open your eyes if you can hear me!”

“Get him up!” Blackwall told them, “get him inside! If we get hit with another one, we’ll all end up out there.”

So both Samson and Blackwall hefted Cullen up and practically dragged him toward the door. Dorian could only watch, slightly glazed eyes wide as they seemingly carried... Maker help him. Cullen wasn’t conscious. He looked... he looked…

He looked dead.

\----

Black. The world was black, and Cullen was falling. Forever falling, weightless and oddly unafraid. It was calm there, in this world that stretched out only as far as his mind allowed. Easy. It would be easy to stay here, where he didn't have to feel or think or _be_.

_Just stay,_ his mind sighed, content. _Here, falling in the dark._

How did he get there? It didn't even matter. Nothing mattered, only the feeling of nothing. Absently, he remembered a time when there was pain, so much pain he thought he'd die, but none of that pain was _here._

_Maybe I did die._

_Would that be so bad?_

No, not if it meant this forever. It wouldn't be so bad at all.

_‘He's not waking up!’_

_‘Fuck, Rutherford, don't do this!’_

_‘Shit, his head. Watch his head. Maker, the blood…”_

Twinkling stars appeared for each voice that pierced this place. Cullen watched them with a dull sort of interest. Curious.

_‘Cullen, please, just think. You're too young to throw your life away. Live a little, find out who you are before you enlist.’_

_‘I didn't lie to you, Knight-Captain. I hid this from you, but I never lied. I never meant for it to go like this.’_

_‘Knight-Captain! Wake up! Maker, they're all dead… we have to move!’_

More voices. From a past that seemed long ago and like it belonged to someone else. More stars twinkling in that sky. It was getting bright in his world of dark. It was getting uncomfortable, and Cullen grimaced as a faint shimmer of pain radiated from his chest.

_Stop that. I liked it dark._

But the voices didn't stop. More stars appeared as more voices came through, some barely shone through in hushed whispers and some lit the blackness with their shouts.

_‘I told you I loved you, and you said you were done.’_

The brightest star yet blazed out, and this time, the pain was sharp and cutting and made his head throb. He squeezed his eyes shut against that awful light and clamped his hands over his ears to drown out the voices that wouldn't leave him.

_Fucking stop. Be quiet! LEAVE ME ALONE!_

And then… quiet. Quiet as loud as the cacophony of the past had been, and Cullen opened his eyes and lowered his hands and gasped. The night sky. The stars. They were, all of them, beautiful. Precious, though they hurt to see, to remember. A breeze ruffled his hair, and he was standing alone on The Herald, looking up at them. Calm, despite the pain shooting from his head and chest.

_‘Bit of a loner, are you?’_

That voice, so real and familiar and fond, made Cullen smile. He could _feel_ the other man’s presence, Dorian was _right next_ to him, had to be, and Cullen turned to respond. What had he said back then? Something about not caring to help make a shopping list. Well, this time, he'd change everything. It'd be different. It'd be _better._

But the smile slipped when he saw nothing but air where that voice had come from, and once again his world was

Black.

Falling. He was falling again. So cold. So _alon_ e.

_I don't… I don’t want this. I don't want to be alone anymore. Maker, please. Help me. I can't be alone._

But only the sound of nothing greeted his ears, and he curled in on himself. Time meant nothing. He had no idea how long he was like that - it could have been a moment or a century for all he knew. Until… yes, yes, there was… _something._ It was low and quiet, barely there but _real._

Someone was praying.

_‘...I am not alone. Even as I stumble on the path with my eyes closed, yet I see. The Light is here…’_

_I know this voice. I know this prayer._

He couldn't start over. He couldn't undo his mistakes. But he could keep moving. He could keep stumbling through, and work to make it better, couldn't he?

_For there is no darkness in the Maker’s light. And nothing that he has wrought shall be lost._

_I'll not be lost._

With that thought, the brightest star yet exploded on that field of dark, bringing with it blinding pain and terrible beauty and _the light._ It was… it was…

It was the ceiling light in his bunk on The Herald. No star, no dream. Real, as real as the stabbing pain that came with each labored breath. Disoriented, Cullen blinked against the sudden light and the weight of reality that pressed in on him.

“What….?” he asked out loud, and his voice was scratchy and so, so weak.

_A dream? Was all that a dream?_

That same presence was again at his side. He felt it shift, felt it just as he'd felt it in his dream. And he was scared, so scared that if he turned his head, _he_ wouldn't be there.

\----

A lot of things had happened. Honestly, Dorian’s head was so screwed up it was a wonder he was still standing at this point. He’d watched them get Cullen inside and moderately patched up, then put him back in his room. Trev was... concerned. It was decided without argument that they needed to get back to town and get Cullen to the doctor, but there was that haze of concern about whether or not he’d wake up. In this storm getting a helicopter out would be horrible, but if that fall had done serious damage... Maker help him.

Trev had also been the one to suggest Dorian stay with Cullen, and he hadn’t argued. The others had enough to deal with, and Dorian wasn’t about to go out there again with a camera. Not in this. It made sense that he was the one to keep an eye on him, but not until they'd looked at his his head was bleeding as well and tacked a few of those butterfly strips in place of stitches over his eyebrow. He'd fought, wanted to be in the room with Cullen, but between Trev and Alistair demanding Dorian sit down and let them tend to his own wounds, he didn't have much in the way of an argument. But when he was cleaned up, he’d settled himself on the floor, wedged between the bed and the closet, and just... watched Cullen. He watched him, watched his chest as it rose and fell, and occasionally he’d get up to press a hand against his cheeks to see if he had a fever or... anything. Anything that would say why he hadn’t woken up yet. A knock to the head that hard probably shouldn’t make him sleep that long. People with concussions were supposed to stay conscious, weren’t they?

It was abjectly terrifying.

His mind started to drift, which was at least welcome, and Dorian couldn’t help but think back to that last night they’d stayed together in Cullen’s room. It had been so nice. Now they were in a completely different situation: Cullen unconscious on the bed with a bandage wrapped around his head and angry bruises on his chest, and Dorian sporting bandages of his own and a few bruises about the face from where he’d hit that pole. Trev had said he'd probably have a scar there. How the fuck had it come to this?

Trev checked in every so often, but it had been a while. Dorian reported as best he could: steady pulse, even breathing, some mumbling, and Trev had kind of taken that as a good sign. What else could they do? It was another fourteen hours before they’d get to town, so they had to take what consolation they could find. So Dorian busied himself by just sitting and keeping watch, sometimes he stood by him and brushed those blond curls away from Cullen’s face, and sometimes he prayed softly. That was what he was supposed to do, right? It only made sense.

After a while, though, he looked up when he heard something come from Cullen’s lips. He’d been mumbling here and there, but this sounded a bit more lucid. And his eyes were open. _Bless the Maker_  Dorian prayed silently, followed immediately by _that’s really not funny._ Dorian moved closer and carefully rested a hand on Cullen’s shoulder to try to keep him from sitting up further than where he was propped up on a smile pile of pillows, “Easy,” Dorian soothed, “don’t move. You’re in bed.”

\----

“What?” Cullen repeated and struggled weakly against the hand on his shoulder. He just needed to sit up, to get his bearings. There wasn't enough strength in him to do much, though, and as soon as he moved, the dull throbbing in his head and chest screamed to life. “Ah, _fuck_!” he half-grunted, half-hissed, grimacing as his eyes watered. Even that exclamation hurt, though, and all he could do was relax back into the pillows with closed eyes as he waited for the pain to pass.  

It didn't pass, not entirely. All it did was quiet back down to that dull roar, but that was enough for him to venture opening his eyes again. He took some time to breathe, though his breath was shallow to keep the sharper pains at bay, and feel himself out. Maker, everything hurt. It had been overshadowed by the spikes in his head and chest, but there wasn’t a single part of him that didn't ache.

None of it made sense. How had this even happened? That odd dream was still lingering, blurring the line between what was fact and what was cooked up in Cullen's head. He remembered falling. Or was that the dream? Maybe it was both. He remembered being cold. He remembered Dorian’s voice somewhere in there, angry at some points, gentle at others… though that could have been the dream, too, because there was something that happened before the falling. Something bad, Cullen knew it had to have been.

It hurt to try and piece all this together. His brow furrowed with concentration, but he only had bits and pieces. Only bits and pieces, but there was someone there with him who might help. It took some effort, but he focused his eyes on the figure next to the bed. Dorian. He moved his hand to cover the one resting on his shoulder… something told him he shouldn't, though, and he let it drop as his chest hurt again, but with a different, deeper sort of pain. The sight of those grey eyes on him, the sight of that face… the last time he'd seen Dorian, he was angry, furious. And Cullen had been furious, too, he remembered that much.

“Dorian?” he began, his voice still a painful rattle in his chest. “I… what happened?

_\----_

“We took a big wave,” Dorian answered, and when he was sure Cullen wasn’t going to try to sit up again, he let go of the other man’s shoulder, “it washed you into the retainer wall.”

Maker, but Cullen looked terrible. He was awake and mostly coherent, though, so that was something. It had to mean something good, right? Like maybe that he would be alright. Dorian sighed, shook his head, and moved to sit down at the edge of Cullen’s bunk. When they’d brought him in, they’d had to pretty much cut him out of his shirts so they could see the damage, and Dorian could see where his ribs were already bruising dark and mottled purple. Terrible. And then his head had been bleeding, too.

“You hit your head,” he went on, “and Trev thinks you may have cracked some ribs, so you need to not move, alright?” Grey eyes regarded him heavily, and Dorian licked his lips. “We’re headed back to town so you can get into the clinic,” he said, “you were bleeding when they brought you in.”

\----

Ah. The wave. Cullen remembered it had come up on him while he'd been securing the deck. But no. No, that wasn't right. He _had_ been securing the deck, and then something else happened before the wave. Something that had been hot and spiky and then sad. So, so sad.

_‘And FUCK YOU, alright? Just FUCK YOU!’_

_‘After everything I’ve said, everything I’ve DONE, you think I’d actually do that to you?’_

_‘I told you I loved you and you said you were done. I’m not good enough for you.’_

Amber eyes widened as he _remembered_ that awful argument on deck, and he just stared into those grey eyes that were on him for half a breath - it was all he could stand - before Cullen's eyes dulled and dropped away to stare at his lap. Days and days of heartache and confusion had come to a head out there in the storm, and Cullen had found out just how _wrong_ he'd been. He felt sick. Bile rose in his throat that _could_ have been from the head wound, but wasn't. He was sick with what he'd done.

There was something else he remembered. He'd been trying to say it before, but that wave hadn't let him then. It looked like the Maker had given him another chance. Whether it would help… well, Cullen doubted it would. But it still needed to be said.

“Dorian,” he murmured, voice rough and thick. He was still staring at his lap. How could he look the man in the face after all that. “I'm sorry. It won't mean anything now… and it _shouldn't_ … but I was wrong. And I'm sorry.”

\----

And there that was. A part of him felt good to see Cullen apologize. There was a spiteful feeling that Cullen hurt like Dorian had hurt, and that made him feel better. That wasn’t a good thing, he knew that, but it was nice to feel vindicated. It made him feel justified. The only problem was that Cullen wouldn’t look him in the eye. In that regard, it didn’t feel like it was _right_.

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry unless you’re going to say it to my face,” Dorian told him, perhaps a little more cooly than he meant, and he reached out to touch Cullen’s leg, “because I owe you one too, and I’m not going to say it until you look me in the eye.”

He leaned down and over so he could study Cullen’s face, “Look at me. Look me in the face and say it.”

\----

“That's not…” Cullen replied, a mix of confusion and shame on his face as he met Dorian's eyes for a moment before looking away again. “You don't owe me anything. Not after that.”

No, it was Cullen who had broken the trust they'd built. It was Cullen who'd betrayed Dorian. What would Dorian possibly have to apologize for?

Cullen however, owed him a proper apology. He'd been given the conditions, so as much as it hurt, he lifted his eyes again to meet Dorian's. Maker, how did he ever think… Cullen's jaw worked as he fought that empty feeling in his heart. His eyes stung. He hurt. He hurt everywhere, inside and out. “But I owe you… so much. I'm sorry.” His voice was a harsh, breaking whisper, laden with guilt and shame. “You were right about me from the beginning… I _am_ insufferable… What I did… what I thought… the awful things I said… I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.”

That was all he could take, and his eyes fell to his lap again as he felt hot tears threaten to spill over golden lashes.

\----

That was better. It soothed some of the hurt in him, and that was better than that spiteful feeling. Of course, Dorian had a streak that could hold a grudge forever, but he didn’t so much _like_ that about himself. This? The real talking and getting the apologies out? He liked that. That felt better. It felt _real_.

Dorian took a breath and held it for a moment. He ached too, inside and out, and that breath was necessary. “You should be sorry,” he said, though there wasn’t anything accusatory in his tone. It was simple fact. Cullen had said some terrible things. He’d assumed some terrible things. He’d neglected the trust between them, and that was a horrible feeling. But all of those things were fact.

“But I said some pretty terrible things to you too, and I made some assumptions that really weren’t fair,” he went on, “so... I’m sorry for that.”

He stood up and went to kneel down beside Cullen with his arms folded on the edge of the bed. Cullen looked terrible, and not just physically, but even with the bandages around his head and the bruises on him... he really was still that beautiful man that Dorian saw before. This wasn’t unlike after Cullen had woken up from that nightmare and had been so stricken with guilt and shame, and Dorian had been there for him then. He’d be there for him now, too, so long as Cullen still wanted him.

One hand slowly reached out to rest on Cullen’s wrist, and he rubbed his thumb over the pale, thin skin there. He didn’t want to take Cullen’s hand yet, just in case, but he did want to touch him. “I should tell Trev you’re up and doing,” he told him, “do you think you can stomach a cup of tea, maybe? Or some water?”

\----

The hand resting on his wrist was good. It cut through a little of that shame. It made things maybe a little more normal. But it also made something twist inside of Cullen. He'd expected part of what Dorian said, at least where he was concerned. He _should_ be sorry. He _was_ wrong. Every step of the way since that morning in Gwaren, he was wrong. What Cullen hadn't expected, however, was Dorian's apology and then that touch and the softer tone of voice. He just… he didn't know why, after everything, Dorian would still even _be_ there. “Why,” he asked and lifted his eyes again, “Why are you being so nice to me? After all that… I don't deserve it.”

\----

He sighed, “Because I meant what I said,” Dorian answered, “I love you, and it’s been... well, maybe not my _experience_ , but my _ideal_ that if you love someone there’s no reason to be needlessly cruel.”

Slowly, he bent down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of Cullen’s head, the side that wasn’t covered in bandages. “I was mad and I yelled at you,” he murmured against blond curls, “but I’m not going to be mad and yell at you now, alright?” Cullen was hurt, and yelling wasn’t going to help him heal or put him in the right mind to rest. That was the beginning and end of it. “Just try to rest for a bit. I’ll go talk to Trev and bring you back some tea and something easy to eat so you can take something for the pain.”

That hand on Cullen’s wrist smoothed up his arm to rub gently over his shoulders and along his back. Now that he was awake, Dorian just wanted to be sure he was okay. That he was there and he was _okay_. “Try to stay awake for me,” he instructed, “now that you’re up, you should maybe not sleep in case that knock to the head did any damage.”

\----

Cullen nodded and took a moment to process all that - the words, the touches, the odd bittersweet mix of pain and happiness swirling around inside him - but by the time he lifted his head to speak, Dorian was already on his way. Left alone with only his thoughts, Cullen sighed, or tried to, wincing at the stab he felt for those broken ribs. He wasn't remotely hungry - still nauseated from the head wound or the guilt or both - but something for the pain sounded good.

What was even better, though… what Cullen had a hard time wrapping his head around, even as it gave him hope…

_‘I love you.’_

Present tense. Not _loved_. Love. As in still. Right now. This very second.

_‘No, I didn't say it. I wrote it.’_

The letter. Cullen still had it - he hadn't been able to throw it out, even when things were at their worst and Cullen believed Dorian had been using him, betraying him. Apparently, even then, there'd been a piece of him, however small, that chose not to fall completely to that madness.

Cullen eyed the table beside the bed where he'd tucked all Dorian's notes. It would be a stretch, a _painful_ stretch… but he had to. He was burning to read that letter now, even if part of him dreaded it a little. Still… Dorian had written it for him, to tell Cullen how he felt. It had to be read.

He screwed his eyes shut as he took a moment to steel himself, then reached an arm out, biting his lip so he wouldn't cry out in pain. As quickly as he could, which wasn't very, he opened the drawer and felt around until his fingers wrapped around the crumpled ball of paper. He gritted his teeth again as he shifted his weight back, worked to sit up a bit, and took a long moment to recover before carefully straightening out the page. One more shallow breath, and he opened his eyes to see that familiar script flowing across the page.

_Cullen,_

_You know, there are these moments you have when you realize something is so important. The most important. Last night was one of those nights. I know it hasn’t been very long since we were at your place, and that maybe I’m being a little syrupy for saying as much, but spending last night with you was one of those moments where I realized just how important you are to me. I realized that I never want to be far from you or have to act like we aren’t what we are._

_Honestly, I can find another job if our situation makes it so I can’t do this. I’ve always been good at finding work. I’ve never been good at finding people. You’re one of the people I’ve found, and I would do whatever I have to so I can keep you. Not in a creepy obsessive way, not really, but...everything else doesn’t matter. You matter. We matter. I’d rather rearrange things around something like this, like us, than rearrange us around something else. Does that even make sense?_

_For a long time I’ve been going back and forth about telling you this, just because I couldn’t decide if it was more cruel to keep it to myself or tell you and us have to pretend like it never happened. But I realized it that day, on the hike, when you took me to that place that you said gave you peace. I felt it there, stronger than I’ve ever felt it, and I realized it when you looked at me then…_

_I love you, Cullen Rutherford._

_I know, a letter’s maybe not the best place to say it. I should tell you. I will tell you, but there’s a part of me that wants you to be able to have it even when I can’t say it. Maker knows I try to say it everytime we’re together in some way, even if we’re not speaking. Sometimes the words, as great as they are, aren’t the important thing._

_When you had that nightmare and told me everything, when I saw all the bad shit that you’ve had to deal with I realized it again. I realized I wanted to be there for you, whenever you had that nightmare, so that I could help however I can. And then I talked to you about my shit and I realized I want you there with me every time I’m having a bad moment. That’s what love’s supposed to be right?_

_For now, I don’t mind having to do this sneaking thing. I know there’s more going on than just you and I on some level and I’d never ask you to jeopardize your job or anything like that. But when it’s over and we have to figure this all out again...I don’t mind coming clean to whoever we have to. And if we have to figure something else out, then that’s okay. So long as I still have you at the end of it, I’ll do whatever I have to._

_I love you. I love you with all my heart. And I want to be with you for as long as you want to be with me. Hopefully, if I know you as well as I hope I do by now, you love me too. That’s all I want._

_Just you._

_~ Dorian_

_PS: You asked me what that word meant. “Amatus.” You were right, it’s Tevene. Old Tevene. We manage to keep the colorful, passionate phrases. It means “part of my heart” or “most beloved.” And you’re both of those, at least to me._

Cullen never had a chance. Before he made it to the end of the first paragraph, his mouth twitched down and his eyes watered. By the third, his throat was thick and choking, his face and neck hot and flushed. When he read the words _I love you, Cullen Rutherford_ , the tears he’d mostly held in check since Gwaren fell in earnest as he worked to hold back the sobs. _This_ was the man he'd thought capable of betraying him so horribly. _This_ was the man Cullen had pushed away without the dignity of a conversation. _This_ was the man who, even now, said he loved him.

It was a strange feeling, the way those words brought him so low and so high at the same time. It was like his heart shattered, put itself back together, and then shattered all over again. It was terrible. It was wonderful. It was everything. He sat there, his head in his hands, hunched over the note in his lap for a long time, feeling that cycle of heartbreak and euphoria, finally letting the tears flow as they would.

\----

Trev had been, unsurprisingly, happy that Cullen was up and doing. He’d asked about his state of mind, how coherent he was, and all that kind of thing. Dorian answered honestly, but had sort of discouraged him from going down to see him. Cullen was still only half awake, and a hundred questions weren’t going to make him feel any better. So instead, he set to making a cup of tea and just a piece of toast with some jam on it. It was light and easy to nibble on, and when that was done he grabbed down a bottle of elfroot to take back with him.

When he knocked gently on Cullen’s door and poked his head back in, however, the sight on the bed wasn’t at all what Dorian had expected to see. He frowned, moved to set the tea and plate of toast on the table by the bed, and rested a hand on Cullen’s shoulder. For a moment, he didn’t say anything and just stood there beside him before he took a seat on the bed and tipped his chin down to look at him.

“Hey,” he prompted gently, “what’s wrong? Is it your chest? Does it hurt?”

\----

He couldn't speak. Cullen's tongue was thick, and there was too much to say, anyway. It all jumbled up in his brain and fought for dominance. Everything from _I love you_ to _you should find someone worthy of this_ bumped around and collided into an unintelligible mess. So he nodded. Yes, his chest hurt. It hurt so much as his heart burned and pounded. He nodded again, and rubbed the heel of one hand over his eyes as the other moved to run his fingers gently over the wrinkled surface of the note.

“I never read it,” he finally answered, voice hoarse and stuttering, “but I kept it.” He raised sad eyes bright with tears and rimmed red to look into Dorian's beautiful face. “Maker, it might not matter now…” he went on, shaking his head slowly, “I love you. I love you, but I hurt you, anyway… if… if there’s even a _little bit_ of this left…” His voice trailed off as he gestured to the words on the page, “... but I can't ask for that.”

\----

His heart ached. His heart ached so much. Part of him wanted to pull Cullen close and tell him how much he loved him, how he felt and how terrible it had felt this trip, but another part was still scared. There was still that part of him that worried that Cullen had thought so little of him that he’d betrayed what trust they had. It hadn’t been fair, and he couldn’t just forget that. He couldn’t ignore it.

“I love you,” Dorian told him as he reached out to cup Cullen’s face gently, “but... do you really think that I would have done that to you? That I would _agree_ to them using you and using _us_ like that?” He studied Cullen’s face for a long moment. “Do you really think so low of me that I’d do that?” he asked, “is it because of what I told you about what happened in Tevinter? I mean... I just, I have to _know_ …”

\----

That was the question, wasn't it? Why had Cullen believed it so easily? Why had he ignored the part of him that _didn't_ believe it for so long? He'd have to take his time, answer carefully and truthfully. Dorian deserved no less than that… and if the answer wasn't good enough, then Cullen would have to be able to live with the consequences. He’d survive, he'd done it before, but it would be bitterly cold for a good, long while. Lonely and dark, like he’d felt at the end of that strange dream, because he knew now, without doubt, that he didn't want to be alone again. That was no way to live, not any more. But he also knew that not just anyone would do - none of this had changed the fact that it had to be Dorian.

He braced himself before leaning back against the pillows. The pain of moving helped focus his mind and cut through the jumbled emotional rollercoaster in his heart. That was something, at least. He waited until the wave passed, then took a short breath before speaking. “What happened to you in Tevinter,” he began slowly, “it never crossed my mind. This… what happened… it wasn't about that.”

_Then what was it about?_ Cullen raised a shaking hand to his chest, fingers closing around the set of dog tags that rested there. “If it was about anything, it was about what happened in Kirkwall. Likely, though, it was just about me being foolish and insecure. I think… I think all along, I was holding my breath. It was just, what we had, it was too good for me… _other_ people get to have good things like that, not me. So, when I heard the first half of that conversation, I thought _well, of course._ You know, _here's what I deserve_.”

He bit his lip and shook his head, disgusted with himself for how he'd behaved. His head tilted to examine Dorian's face, and it was hard to read, but for his part, he was listening… and Cullen thought that was more than he deserved. “I don't… I don't think low of _you_. It came out that way, I know it did. It wasn't fair. I was scared and weak, I thought low of myself, and it came out all at _you.”_ He paused for a while to get his breath. All this talking was taking its toll on him, and he wasn't sure he was saying it right, anyway. “Part of me never believed it, that you would do that, but I ignored that part… easier to cut it off, I thought. Work my ass off and not think about it. Go home after and be the same. But it wasn't easier, and I'm not the same. I just… when you spend almost a decade expecting the worst, thinking that's what you deserve, it's hard to accept the things that _are_ good. And easy to find a reason to push them away. It’s not right, but it's what I did.”

Sweet Maker, he was so tired. Tired in his mind and his heart after that note and the tears. They'd been cleansing in their way, but left him hollowed out and needing rest. This exhaustion, it was different from the toll working the boat took on him. Different from anything he'd ever felt. That tiredness settled in right next to the aching mess in his chest and he shrugged, wincing a little for how it made his chest sting. “I don't even know if any of that made sense. I just know… as cliché as it sounds… it truly wasn't you. It was me. All me. Trev told me to talk to you, and I knew he was right before he even said it. But I'm broken and stubborn and I was scared I'd made a mistake… and knowing that… I couldn't face you either way.”

\----

That was a lot to take in. Dorian was quiet, listened to the words that fell from Cullen’s mouth, and instinctively he reached out to grab the cup of tea and press it into the other man’s hands. On some level, it hurt to know that Cullen had thought all those things. He’d not really been much different with the waiting for the other shoe to drop either, but... he’d trusted Cullen, hadn’t he?

Until he thought that Cullen had broken up with him.

Maker help them both. Dorian sighed, pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead and hissed when he put pressure on that cut, then looked up at Cullen. They were both a mess. They’d both been waiting for this thing to implode... and it had. Spectacularly. And yet here they were somehow, and maybe they shouldn’t have been, but Dorian couldn’t just walk away. Not from Cullen. Not ever.

“Drink your tea,” he told him with a nod before he rested his free hand on Cullen’s leg. That was all he could say for the moment while his head spun and he felt the weight of that guilt and regret hanging over them both. A conversation would have healed all this. It was stupid that it hadn’t, but that’s how it had happened.

And now they needed to fix it.

Dorian took another breath then, “I thought you ended it because you read the note,” he admitted, “and maybe... I don’t know, didn’t like that I’d said it. Or wrote it. Something like that. If I knew you’d heard that conversation, I would have explained it to you. I was _going_ to when we went to lunch. I wouldn’t have kept it from you.” That hand on Cullen’s leg tightened its grip just a little, and he bit at his lip. What else could he say?

“But you know I wouldn’t do something like that to you, don’t you?” he asked softly, “I mean... even with everything... you do _know_ that, right?”

\----

Cullen didn't want the tea. He didn't want the toast. Maker help him, at this point, he didn't even want the elfroot. His stomach turned with each rock of the boat and his mouth was sour. _Maybe I can get seasick,_ he thought absently, but that wasn't what this was. This was heartsick. This was that heavy, sinking feeling that came with the realization of a mistake that couldn't be taken back. So what he _really_ wanted was the clock to turn back by about two weeks… to tell the man from then to just read the note and _think_ for one fucking second.

But he hadn't. He'd reacted, awfully, and here they were.

He took a sip of that tea, though, and grimaced as it went down. When he was sure it would _stay_ down, he chuckled, but it was a sad, broken sort of sound. “Wasn't I supposed to be the one making you tea?” he asked before taking another sip.

He was biding time, he knew it, but his brain was mush, his body was limp and weak, and his heart was bleeding a bit from the cracks there. Dorian's question was… it should have been easy. He knew what the _right_ answer was. It should have sprung from his lips immediately… but he was staring down days and days of evidence that proved contrary to what he should have been saying right now. _Yes, of course I know that._

“That's… yes. I know that. I _knew_ that. But it didn't matter, did it? I can tell you all day that there was a part of me that didn't believe it the whole time… arguing with me every step of the way… unless I was working, so I worked myself until I couldn't. I can tell you that, and it's the Maker damned truth, but I still _did it **,**_ didn't I?” His voice shook. His hands shook. Everything felt heavy and wrong and bitter, and Cullen gripped the cup in his hand to steady himself. Amber eyes peered down into that honey-gold liquid. “Fuck,” he breathed, “I was trying to tell you out there before the wave hit… I'm broken - scars outside and in. It's the broken part that I listened to. The part that thinks _alone_ is better. Safer for me. I don't… I don't want that. Maker, I don't… I want… _you_. But you deserve better. You should have better.”

And Dorian should have someone better. Cullen wanted that person to be him - wanted it with all his heart. That awful lonely falling feeling at the end of his strange dream returned, and he knew he needed Dorian to keep it at bay... he just couldn't see an honest way back to the place they were before.

\----

“Don’t tell me what I deserve, hm?” he asked before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of Cullen’s head, “I deserve to be _happy_ , and I’m _happy_ with you.” One hand smoothed up Cullen’s arm to cup his face, and Dorian looked down into those sad amber eyes, “And maybe you _are_ broken. Maybe you’ve been broken for years, you said it yourself before didn’t you? Nine years or however long of blaming yourself for something horrible? That would break _anyone_.”

That hand at Cullen’s cheek brushed over the scruffy skin there, and Dorian ran his thumb gently under Cullen’s eye and along his cheekbone, “So maybe... maybe it’s time to _fix_ it, right? No one has to _stay_ broken.”

\----

And for a moment, brief but intense in the relief it yielded, there was no pain. The fog cleared, the falling stopped, replaced by a growing sense of… hope. Hope and gratitude in equal measure that Dorian wasn't giving up on him… that he wasn't letting him give up on himself. No one had ever given Cullen a gift that precious, that important, and he breathed out as he turned his face into that soothing hand at his cheek. Eyes closed, he kissed Dorian's palm and breathed in deeply.

Which marked the end of that blissfully pain-free moment as his ribs screamed out against the pressure. But that pain was physical… the other, deeper pain had unraveled, its grip slipping because of Dorian's words and that tender touch. Right there and then, Cullen knew… it was time to really, truly put all the guilt and fear to bed.

_...he opened my fucking eyes to what living was supposed to be like…_

Words he'd said to Trev in anger floated back to him, but they’d been closer to the truth than he'd known. Here, with Dorian… this was his chance to live. Dorian's support, his belief despite everything, that was the catalyst he needed. Dorian's love, that was worth… everything.

One hand raised from where it had been holding that cup of tea and slowly, hesitantly moved to brush fingertips through dark hair, curling around his ear before trailing down and coming to rest on Dorian's neck. It was a gentle touch, slow and exploratory, and it felt like the first time for the way Cullen's heart pounded. “It _is_ time. Past time,” Cullen agreed, looking directly into those beautiful grey eyes, but without the shame-driven urge to look away that had consumed him since he'd woken. “You make me believe I can be a better man… I _want_ to be a better man. I don't know how, but I want to. You've given me that, and that's just… thank you.” He took a breath, not too deep to keep the pain at bay, and straightened up a bit, but didn't look away. “I haven't said this properly yet… I love you, Dorian Pavus. With everything I have… such as it is… I love you.”

\----

That touch and that kiss to his hand helped some of the ache, and Dorian managed a smile. The side of his face was still bruised so it hurt a bit, but he smiled regardless. Even with all this, Cullen really _was_ interminably sweet. The Maker knew he’d probably be the death of Dorian, really, but he didn’t care. Seeing that guilt and fear leave those beautiful eyes was worth it. He’d seen it after that nightmare and he saw it now. Amazing how similar those two moments were, actually.

“You _are_ insufferable,” he said with the quirk of one eyebrow, but Dorian leaned in and kissed the tip of Cullen’s nose like he’d done a while before. That felt like a lifetime ago, but it was sweet and they needed that sweetness. “And you don’t need to be a _better_ man,” he went on as he looked into those amber eyes from where his face was less than a breath away from Cullen’s, “you’re a _good_ man who needs to maybe relearn some things, but you don’t need to be _better_. I love you the way you are: insecure, goofy, and _trying_. Okay?”

The hand at Cullen’s cheek moved to brush through the hair that wasn’t trapped under the bandage, and Dorian smiled again, “now kiss me so you can have that tea and a bite of something to eat. I’m not letting you have any heavy painkiller until you have something in your stomach.”

\----

His head was throbbing. His joints ached. His chest burned. There was still a tinge of sadness around the edges for how things had happened and his role in it all. There would be for a good, long time, he suspected, but right now… Cullen was happy. More than happy, really, and he chuckled as the warmth he'd missed _so much_ filled him again. Dorian's passion, his kindness, his… his love reached out and caressed him. It smoothed over all those jagged spots that had ripped and grown since the morning he'd started down this path laden with fearful mistakes.

How the man could be the one healing him right now after all that… how he had the capacity for that love and resiliency of heart… Cullen didn't know. He didn't know, but he took a moment to silently thank the Maker for this moment… for Dorian. Only He knew how much Cullen really needed the beautiful heart of the beautiful man before him.

He needed it so much, so much. Cullen tilted his chin to cross the scant space between them and press his lips gently to Dorian’s for the first time in far too long. Good. Dorian was so good, and Cullen felt that soft kiss all the way through him. Had he ever felt so much love in him as he did in this moment? More importantly, could his battered body, mind, and heart take it?

It could. It would. It would hold all that and more.

“You are a stubborn man,” he breathed, pulling away with a smile. His fingers stroked the grown-out shorter hairs at the back of Dorian's head, wishing for more. Always, he would wish for more. “Anyone else would have walked away, but not you. You've got steel in you, I saw it that first day… and a big heart. The biggest… the most important to me. And Maker help me, I never want to hurt it again... Will you help me? Help me relearn those things?”

\----

“Of course I will,” he chuckled, and reached back with his other hand to cover the one of Cullen’s on his neck. Maker, but Cullen looked exhausted. Inside and out. Of course he would be. Waking up after that wave and them having this talk... Dorian was exhausted and he wasn’t the one with cracked ribs.

Slowly, he leaned in and kissed Cullen’s lips again before he smiled, “Whatever it takes. Or whatever I can do, anyway. I promise that much.”

Now they needed to rest. Cullen needed to rest. They needed to heal, inside and out, and they needed to be close after having to be so far away for what felt like a lifetime. It hadn’t been, but like those weeks at Cullen’s house, this time apart had felt like it had always been this way somehow. They’d gone from feeling like they’d known each other their whole lives to feeling like angry strangers again. That needed to be repaired, but somehow, it felt like it would be easier this time. It would be. Dorian was confident in that.

“Here,” he prompted, and helped Cullen settle back against the pillows, “drink some of that tea and I’ll sit with you for a while, hm?” Dorian moved to get in the bed on Cullen’s other side, and he stretched out on his side so he could look up into Cullen’s face. “Just try to relax. Trev was telling me a little about what to do for those ribs, but you should have at least something to drink before you lie down.”

\----

Dorian was right - Cullen was likely a little dehydrated, and he knew he needed something in his stomach. The intensity, the ups and downs of this conversation had masked it somewhat, but that pain would slam back into place any moment now. Still, he had no complaints… how could he? Dorian's presence at his side, warm and secure… it was all he wanted. And, he found, he didn't mind the little bit of fussing over him. That sort of thing usually annoyed him, made him feel weak, but from Dorian… it was nice. It made him feel cared for. Important. Loved.

So he drank his tea. He nibbled as much of that toast as he could stand, and he took some of the elfroot Dorian had brought. There was stronger stuff on the boat, he knew, but that would leave his mind numb and heavy… and he didn't want that. Not now. He didn't want to miss a second of this healing closeness.

All that done, Cullen settled back down, slowly and wincing each time his ribs screamed out at him. It took a while, but he finally managed to turn onto the side with the broken ribs. He'd cracked more than a few in his lifetime, and, odd as it sounded, lying _on_ them made it easier to breathe. Even better, he could face Dorian that way, so as he let his body settle a bit and recover after all that movement, he took time to just… look into that beautiful face.

A frown tugged Cullen's mouth down when he noticed the bruising and swelling around Dorian's right temple and the bandages over his eyebrow. “What's this?” he asked, raising a hand to run gentle fingers up to those injuries, stopping short lest he hurt the man. “Are you ok?”

\----

That warm hand on his face felt nice, and Dorian practically nuzzled into it like a cat. His head hurt still, and that touch made him feel so much better. Were Cullen not hurt, he might have curled up against the man’s chest so he could feel that warmth even better, but... he couldn’t. Not now. So he just enjoyed that touch, and turned to kiss Cullen’s palm.

“I tried to take out that pole with my head when the wave hit,” he answered, “so if there’s a dent now, you know where it came from.” Dorian smiled and leaned in to kiss Cullen’s lips again, “but I’m okay. Nothing some ice, Trev's masterful first aid skills, and elfroot wouldn’t take care of, anyway.”

If anything, it probably only added to his good looks. In some rugged way.

“Do you need anything?” he asked softly, and took Cullen’s hand in his own to he could hold it close to his heart, “anything I can do?”

\----

“Just you,” Cullen replied immediately. It was cheesy, he knew it was and he smiled a little for it, but with that set up and this wave of healing warmth washing over him, he couldn't resist. “Just you, hard head and all.” A deep breath had him wincing with one eye pinched shut, then the smile was on his face again.

This moment was unlike anything Cullen had ever known. They were, the both of them, bruised and banged up, still feeling their way around the hurt, but it was still so, so sweet. _Never again,_ he vowed, _I'll never hide from this again. My fear won't ever hurt him again._ That promise made, he tilted his head up to press a kiss just shy of one dark eyebrow. “I'm sorry I made this harder than it had to be. I'm sorry I was so… cruel. I won't… that won't happen again. I promise you… I promise I'll talk to you and share more. I won't spend my time so scared and worried that I don't deserve this that I don't see you for what you are. Which is to say… perfect for me. Just what I need and all I want. My angel with a kind heart and a bit of a wicked streak.” He chuckled at that last thought, pausing long enough to kiss Dorian's forehead again before he closed his tired eyes. “It hasn't been long since we've met… but Maker knows, you mean _everything_ to me. A chance to fix what I've messed up means _everything_ to me... I love you.”

\----

Maker help him. All those words, and they were more than just words, they meant more to Dorian than he could really understand. He’d wanted to hear something like that for so long. He’d walled off that part of him, convinced himself that he didn’t _need_ it, but now that it was laid out in front of him it only took a few heartbeats for Dorian to realize he _wanted_ it. He wanted Cullen. He _had_ Cullen. He had Cullen’s heart like Cullen had his own, and it had only taken being out in the middle of the Frozen Sea on a creaky old boat for him to find the one person in the world that made his heart feel so full.

“I love you too,” Dorian murmured against Cullen’s lips, “every last part of you.”

So he moved in as close as he dared, if only so he wouldn’t hurt or crowd Cullen too badly, and they rested together. Dorian knew not to let Cullen sleep, so he stayed up with him. There wasn’t much talking, not after all that, but it was warm and good and _healing_. Every breath they shared, every kiss, made some of that pain from the last couple of weeks scar over so it could heal. Even after everything, all the anger and hurt and fear, Dorian was happy. He was actually happy to be there beside Cullen for the duration of the steam home.


	28. Give, For Wild Confusion, Peace [1 of 4]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian offers comfort at the clinic while Cullen wrestles with doctor's orders.

  


The clinic.

Much like the “Community Center” the place looked a bit more like a place where one would _catch_ something rather than have it cleared up, but it was what they had. They were reasonably well equipped, at least, but that hadn’t kept Dorian from eyeing some of the rather concerning looking benches and _people_ that sat in the waiting room. He sat on Cullen’s left while Trev sat on his right, and neither of them had left the man’s side since they came up from Cullen’s room when they got into port.

X Rays came next, as did a whole lot of waiting: waiting for results, waiting for the doctor, waiting to hear _something_. The clinic was cold, and Dorian curled a bit in on himself where he sat in the one requisite chair in the exam room. Cullen was lying on the table, Trev was leaning against the wall, and none of them spoke. Not really. There wasn’t much to say at this point, though every so often Trev would cast a glance over at them and give them a look that was equal parts concern and amusement.

Dorian had demanded to go with them. ‘No’ wasn’t happening, and finally Trev had relented and let him go. So they both stayed with Cullen during this whole exercise in hurry up and wait, which seemed to be par for the course in anything to do with the fishing business. It wore on Dorian’s nerves to the point where he’d almost gone to find a nurse just to see how much _longer_ it was going to be.

Finally, Trev turned to look at them both and he nodded over at where Cullen was lying there with an arm flung over his eyes, “You okay?” he asked.

\----

Other than the bit right after the wave, Cullen hadn't gotten any sleep. Though he had to wonder if being unconscious actually counted as sleep. Either way, Dorian had kept his word and kept Cullen awake the whole way back to port. And at some point in the night, after that conversation with Dorian that had been so important but so draining,  the full force of those injuries caught up with him. No amount of elfroot helped, and Trev wouldn’t give him anything stronger since he wasn't sure how bad that knock to Cullen's head really was. Great.

Still, through the whole thing, Dorian hadn't left Cullen's side, even though he had to be every bit as exhausted as Cullen himself was. Maybe more - Cullen still wasn't sure how long he was out for. Dorian's presence had helped, though. He'd anchored Cullen to the here and now, keeping the pain from washing him away and letting Cullen squeeze his hand… maybe a little too hard sometimes... through the worst of it.

But now they were waiting. Waiting, and it was so hard. The fluorescent lights were too bright. Every noise, every shuffle was intensified 100 fold. His stomach was heavy with turning nausea. Moving hurt. Lying still hurt. Breathing hurt. On top of it, Cullen would have given his left kidney just to sleep.

And Trev was asking if he was _ok._ He'd laugh if it didn't hurt so damn much.

“Peachy,” Cullen breathed without moving his arm. “Never better.” Well, that wasn't good. He didn't _mean_ to be sarcastic, not really. That was the pain talking. “I've seen better days,” he amended in a softer tone.

\----

Trev chuckled a little, “Getting a bit cranky?” he teased as he looked down at his watch.

Dorian got up from the chair, mostly so Trev could sit, and he went to brush his fingers over Cullen’s hand. He didn’t move it, just wrapped his hands around it and traced his fingers over Cullen’s knuckles. For as fidgety as _he_ felt, he could only imagine how Cullen was feeling. Though he’d never hurt his ribs or had a real concussion, Dorian had a feeling Cullen had to be in a lot of pain. He rarely, if ever, got so snappy unless he was feeling bad.

“Hopefully it won’t be long now,” Dorian soothed gently, “it’s okay.”

\----

“I know,” Cullen answered softly, since softly was the only way he _could_ speak for now. Still, as awful as he felt, he did register that touch on some level. He appreciated it so much right now… he’d have to tell Dorian later when he could speak properly. It was funny. The night before, he’d been able to, but it seemed like all this was getting worse before it got better.

Still, he had hope that the doc would come in, give him some sort of prescription, and let them be on their way. He’d be achy and quiet for a while, but it would pass.

There was a soft knock on the door, and the three men seemed to breathe out at the same time - _finally -_ as the doctor walked into the room, flipping through what was apparently Cullen’s information. They’d already given everything they remembered to the nurse before the xrays, and Cullen hoped there wasn’t much in the way of talking left to do on his part. He pulled his arm away from his eyes, eyes squinting against the bright light as he tried to sit up just a bit. He had some dignity left. Maybe.

“Mr… Rutherford?” the doctor asked, eyes in Cullen’s direction.

“Cullen,” he corrected and nodded in greeting. “Please.”

“Alright, Cullen, here’s what we’ve got,” she went on without batting an eye, “Your xrays showed us two broken ribs on the right side and a bruised rib on the left… that wave really did a number on you. Luckily… or not so lucky, maybe… they usually heal on their own. Takes a while and hurts like the dickens, but they’ll mend.”

“I’ve lived through cracked ribs before,” Cullen answered curtly.

“Well, good. Then you know what to expect. What I’m concerned with though is your head,” The doctor turned her attention to Trev and Dorian then, “How long did you say he was out for?”

\----

“I don’t…” Dorian began, then licked his lips. It hadn’t been _hours_ , thank the Maker, but long enough for him to worry.

Trev cut in then, “About an hour?” he offered, “maybe a little less if he woke up before you came and told me?”

“About an hour, then,” Dorian answered with a nod, “but he was mumbling. He wasn’t... you know, _out_ out.” That hand in Cullen’s squeezed, and Dorian turned to catch amber eyes, “his eyes opened a couple of times and he was sort of half talking. I thought he was awake, but he wasn’t really lucid, if that makes sense.”

\----

“Mmmhmm,” the doctor acknowledged, then looked over her glasses at Cullen, “And when you were fully awake… did you remember what had happened?”

Well, this was taking an interesting turn. Other than the pounding headache, Cullen hadn’t really worried too much about it. He assumed he’d suffer that one night of not much sleep and then that would be it. Maybe not.

“I mean,” Cullen began, “I remember I had a really strange dream, and then when I woke up… no… not immediately. I had to ask.” Cullen shot his eyes over at Dorian just briefly before looking back at the doctor. “... But then I remembered. Bits and pieces at first, but it didn’t take long at all to remember everything. So… almost immediately?”

“And how’s your head now?”

“It hurts.”

“Nausea? Sensitivity to light? Sounds?”

“Yes, all that. Of course.”

“Hmmm…” the doctor mused again as Cullen wondered what she was getting at.

\----

Dorian and Trev shared a look. It was a knowing kind of look that said they both knew what was probably coming. Cullen’s head injury was a problem. He hadn’t seemed _too_ out of it, relatively, but lining up all those things in the one place made it sound... not good. Dorian’s grip on Cullen’s hand tightened, and he lifted his other hand to run gently over Cullen’s shoulders. He was so bruised up, swollen a bit here and there, and Dorian didn’t want to hurt him by touching him.

“He ate and drank,” Dorian offered, “and kept everything down. No... throwing up or anything.” Maybe that would help something. “Just some tea and water and toast, but that seemed to settle okay.”

\----

“Right… and after I came to, I didn’t go back to sleep,” Cullen added, tone hopeful, silently thanking Dorian for adding that in. He really wasn’t liking where this was going. Not at all.

“Well, that’s good,” the doctor said and nodded, “Likely, you don’t have anything to worry about, but… I’m going to recommend you be monitored, at least overnight. And you can sleep… but only for two hours at a time for the first night. You’ll need someone to wake you and ask a set of questions.”

“Ok,” Cullen answered with a bit of relief. Monitoring he could stand. Especially if that monitoring came in the form of Dorian staying in his bunk again… but he’d also stomach the occasional check-in from the rest of the guys when Dorian was working. That’d be just fine. “I’m sure someone on the boat can check on me every so often. Right, Trev?”

\----

Trev blinked a few times and lifted a hand to rub at his beard and then over his lips, “I mean, sure, but…” he began, before he made a bit of a face, “two broken ribs and a concussion... that’s a lot of hurt to be trying to do anything with, isn’t it?”

Maker. Dorian sucked in a breath and rubbed his thumb over Cullen’s knuckles, “I’ll keep an eye on you,” he promised softly, “but if you go out again, what if you get hurt worse?”

\----

Cullen opened his mouth to argue, but the doctor cut him off before he could get a word out. “I’m going to have to agree with them, Cullen. You need to rest and heal, and between those ribs and that head injury… well, you’re just not going to get what you need to recover on a crab boat. Even if you hadn’t hit your head… your movement’s going to be impaired for at least a couple of weeks. The ribs won’t be healed completely for six, maybe eight weeks.”

“I’ll wrap them. That’ll help me get around,” Cullen said, waving a hand.

“That’ll just make it take longer to heal,” the doctor said and sighed. Her expression said that she’d dealt with Cullen’s type before. “Look, I can’t tell you not to go, but I can strongly recommend against it. Which is, for the record, what I’m doing.”

\----

“Thanks,” Trev answered, “we’ll, uh... talk about it. Can we have a few minutes?”

Dorian could feel his heart pounding hard, and he took a half step closer to Cullen. He just wanted to be there, wanted to be close in case Cullen needed it. Between he and Trev, there was probably going to be a fight, and Dorian was worried. He was worried Cullen would be angry if he agreed that he should stay, worried about Cullen’s safety if he went. He just worried. Too much.

\----

To her credit, the doctor nodded and turned to leave, but paused in front of the door, “And if you stay and you don’t have anyone to watch you, we have a few rooms here. I’d like to keep you overnight… just to make sure that head injury’s really nothing to worry about. I’ll go prepare your prescriptions while you talk.” With that, she opened the door, stepped outside, and closed it behind her.

“Well, I’m not staying,” Cullen started in as soon as the door closed. “I have a headache. It’ll pass in a few hours. I can still stand at the hydros, and you can’t afford to be a man short. You know that.”

\----

Trev sighed and shook his head, “You could hardly walk getting in here,” he pointed out, “and that’s on land. How are you going to manage staying upright when the boat’s rolling? Or if you stumble and brush up against something?” He focused his gaze on Cullen, studied his face for a long moment, “I’m not saying this as your boss. I’m saying this as your _friend_ who had to help carry you to bed because you were completely out of it.”

\----

None of this was helping that headache. Yeah, Cullen was banged up, but it was really just a few ribs and he’d already made it through one night without his head getting worse. Well, ok, the headache had been steadily ramping up, but that was nothing a little sleep - apparently in increments of two hours - and some meds wouldn’t fix. Amber eyes that were a little bloodshot fixed on Trev as Cullen frowned. “Look, Trev,” he started again and his voice was firmer, louder though it hurt, “I’ve been shot. I’ve been stabbed. I’ve lived through explosions and more. I think I can handle two weeks of crabbing with a couple of busted ribs. I signed on for another season - I need to finish it out. I _said_ I would. You want me to just… not?”

\----

“I _want_ you not to get hurt worse,” Trev pointed out, “and you got shot and stabbed and all that, and you probably had to rest for a while in between. A few hours in your bunk isn’t enough.”

Dorian turned to look at Cullen then, “I think you should stay,” he offered softly, “if something else happened... I don’t know... what if you got worse?”

“The weather’s supposed to be shit for the next week,” Trev agreed, “and Maker help us if you had to get flown out. You signed on, and I _know_ that, but your health’s more important to me than having you there to run the hydros. Barris can do it, and Alistair can pick up some of the hustle. It just means Samson’ll have to pull his head out of the engine for a little while. It’s fine. _You_ need to take care of yourself.”

\----

This wasn’t going the way he wanted it to. On some level, he realized that if it were anyone else, Cullen would be on the other side of the fence, telling them to take time and heal. But Cullen didn’t take his responsibilities lightly… and there was that panicky voice in the back of his head that said _they don’t actually need you_. It had started when he’d given the reins to Barris. That had been the right call, Cullen knew that, and he was proud of the job Barris did - but there was a small part of him, even during that awful time, that had smarted a bit at how little changed when it wasn’t him at the fore.

But then there’d been Dorian and his gentle prodding for Cullen to stay. The concern written so clearly on his face and his worried tone - those had done more to soften Cullen than any of Trev’s arguments… logical as they may have been. So, his options were to go and worry everyone to death or stay and feel a bit like a failure. Not good either way, in his estimation… but he also didn’t want those grey eyes clouded with that much worry for him. He couldn’t… he couldn’t cause Dorian any more pain than he already had. For all the stubbornness in Cullen, he just wouldn’t do that. Not to the man he loved.

“Shit,” he breathed and his shoulders slumped as he looked away from the two men in front of him, “I guess I’m a fucking liability. Fine. Fine, if it’ll make you happy, I’ll stay.”

\----

“You know I wouldn’t say this if I didn’t think you should,” Trev pointed out, “and it’s just the one trip. If we keep on the numbers we have then it’ll just be another couple of weeks and things’ll even out just fine.”

Dorian ran his hand along Cullen’s shoulders and he bent to kiss the top of Cullen’s head gently, “I just don’t want you to get worse,” he murmured softly, “you’re not a liability so much as you’re... you know, we don’t want it to turn into something else.”

Trev sighed, “And you’ll be back for next year, right? One bad wave’s not going to keep you from coming back.”

\----

“Alright,” Cullen replied quickly, “Alright. I said I’d stay. I don’t have to be happy about it.” He sighed and shook his head before wrapping a hand around his forehead and massaging his temples. He was being difficult, there was no other way to describe it… he was fully aware of that fact, but couldn’t control the frustration he felt. Still, it wasn’t fair, was it? It was no one’s fault that wave hit. No one’s fault Cullen was swept across the deck. It definitely wasn’t fair to bristle at the only two people in Thedas who actually liked Cullen. Or, rather, in the case of Dorian… loved him. Cullen took a breath, as deep as he dared, and reached an arm out to wrap around Dorian’s waist as he leaned into the man just a bit. Enough to feel his warmth and let that steady his heart. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be snapping at you two. It is what it is… I’m just… It’s shitty and damned disappointing. What a way to end a season.”

\----

Dorian kissed the top of Cullen’s head again and wound his arms around the other man as best he could without hurting him before he murmured “I love you, hm?” into his ear. Maker help him, he loved Cullen so. He wanted him to be safe and healthy and _okay_. Just okay. Better than okay. That was the most important thing to him. “It’ll be alright.”

“I know,” Trev told Cullen, “but you’ll be good before too long. And when we get back in, you can help a little bit if you’re holding together better, which you will be. Maybe not heavy lifting and everything, but you’re not getting out of _all_ of it just for a damn concussion and some fucked up ribs.” He winked then, “Understand me?”

\----

That got a weak chuckle, though laughing was painful, and Cullen tried to hide the wince that followed. The look Trev gave him - _see?_ \- told him his try didn’t quite pan out. “Understood, captain,” Cullen answered with a little salute. He still didn’t like it, but really, what was he going to do? It was clear nothing he said was going to convince these two otherwise… and if he looked at it objectively, they were right. It didn’t _feel_ right, but it was.

Cullen tilted his head up - slowly since any sudden movement just made the whole situation unbearable - and pressed a kiss to Dorian’s shoulder. It was odd, this affection being out there in the open, in front of Trev, but even with all the pain and aggravation… he didn’t mind it. In fact, it was kind of… nice. Freeing after so much hiding and then all that ugliness he’d caused. “You won’t have to worry about me killing myself out there, I suppose.” He paused and was about to add _I love you, too_ , if only for the fact that he didn’t think he could say it enough… but of course the doctor chose that moment to rejoin them.

“Talking done, boys?” she asked, and raised an eyebrow for how he and Dorian had their arms around one another. That was the only indicator of surprise, though, and she quickly recovered.

“Yeah… I guess I have to stay,” Cullen admitted, though his tone was still unhappy.

“That’s… for the best, I’d say. Glad they talked some sense into you,” the doctor replied as she handed off the prescriptions to Cullen. “These are anti-inflammatories. One every 6 to 8 hours. These,” she said, pointing to the second slip of paper, “are pain killers. Strong ones. Don’t take them until tomorrow. Tonight, you need to wake up every 2 hours, and those’ll knock you out, I promise.  When you _can_ take them, they’re every 6 to 8 hours, too. Now, do you have someone to stay with you?”

Well, that was an interesting question. Which raised another… Dorian… he was going to have to go back out, wasn’t he? Cullen raised his chin to look up at Dorian with a questioning expression on his face.

\----

Dorian looked down at Cullen for a moment, then back up to Trev. There was no way he could stay with Cullen for those two weeks, he knew that much, but... tonight? Maybe? Hopefully. Cullen was already having to walk off for the rest of the season, he shouldn’t have to be alone this whole first night.

“We’ve got about twelve hours,” Trev agreed with a nod, I don’t see anything wrong with you staying, Dorian.”

Thank the Maker. Dorian smiled a little and bent to kiss the top of Cullen’s head again, “I’ll stay, hm?” he offered, “keep an eye on you.”

\----

“Twelve hours. That'll put you leaving port right around…” the doctor's voice trailed off as she looked at her watch, “... oh, 2 AM. I'll get the nurses to check you in… assuming you'll stay overnight for monitoring… which again, I recommend.”

Cullen nodded. At this point, he was resigned and not at all in the mood for more arguing. It'd be easier on Dorian too, if Cullen stayed in town.

“Good,” the doctor went on with a nod of her own, “We have an overnight staff who'll pop in every two hours or so. I'm afraid it'll be a rough night on you and your partner.” The question on the word partner was apparent, and even through the fog of pain and annoyance, Cullen smiled. He wasn't… well, he wasn't sure if that was accurate, strictly speaking. He assumed there'd be… more after the dust settled. More talking. More work. More time until Cullen didn't burn with guilt each time he thought of how he acted. Maybe more time until Dorian really forgave him.

But he had hope.

“I'll just get them started on your paperwork then. A nurse’ll be by to get you to your room.”

When the doctor left, Cullen sighed and leaned into Dorian a bit more. 12 hours. All he had was 12 hours before he had to say goodbye, knowing that Dorian was going out into that shit alone… and he couldn't even promise to be conscious for most of that. Better and better.

“Thank you,” he finally said, “for staying. And thank you, Trev, for the trouble. It's been… it's been a shit trip. Hope the next one’s better.”

\----

Trev just watched the two of them for a long few moments before he sighed and shook his head, “I think maybe you two should... figure all this out,” he told them as he pointed between them, “I’ll tell the nurses you guys tend to get punchy.”

“Funny,” Dorian deadpanned as Trev opened the door. When he was gone, Dorian lifted a hand to brush over his face and he sighed. It was going to be a long night. A really long night. It had been a long day, or week, or almost a month, already. But it was going to be a long night. “Come on,” Dorian murmured, “lie back. Do you need anything?”

\----

But Cullen didn't want to lie back, not until he was settled into whatever room they were getting ready for him. He feared that, as soon as he did, he'd just completely pass out. For now, he had a few blissful moments alone with Dorian, and even though things had been off and were maybe unsettled, Cullen hurt... and that hurt cried out for comfort. “No,” he answered and, instead of lying down, worked to sit up more fully and swing his legs over the side of the table so he faced Dorian. Slowly, gently, he wrapped both arms around the other man's waist, pulling him in between parted knees… close enough so he could lay his head against Dorian's chest and hear that steady heartbeat under one ear. Amber eyes slid closed and Cullen took a shallow breath. “No, I don't need anything else.”

A long moment passed as Cullen took in that heartbeat and the feel of Dorian’s warmth before he half-chuckled. “Well, maybe a toothbrush. Maybe they have some here for, ah, overnight guests.”

\----

Dorian wound his arms around Cullen’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head. That hug was good, and Dorian just held him for a long time. All that exhaustion and pain had to be getting to him, and Dorian just wanted to help. Somehow. “I can grab your stuff off the boat later, if you want me to,” he offered before he hugged Cullen that little bit tighter, “toothbrush and all that kind of thing?”

Warm hands rubbed down over Cullen’s shoulders and along his back and he took a deep breath in, “I’m sorry. I know you wanted to go back out.”

\----

“Nothing to apologize for,” Cullen murmured from where his head was nestled into Dorian's chest, fighting to soak up as much of that soothing comfort as he could before he couldn't any more. “I don't like walking away with things undone… and just… you'll be out there in it, you know, and I _won't be_ … so, please be…” But he stopped there with the word _careful_ on his lips. Dorian had done fine. Dorian would continue to do fine, whether or not Cullen was there. It was a bittersweet realization, and he breathed a short laugh for it.

“I was going to say ‘ _be careful’_ ” he went on and pulled back so he could look into eyes that looked so tired but always so beautiful. “But you've _been_ doing that, haven't you? You helped me with the flooding, you rode out that wave, you’ve done well even with you being sick and me being a right shit. You know what you're about out there.” He smiled and squeezed Dorian as hard as he dared. “So I won't say what you already know - to be safe. I'll just miss you like crazy. And pray for no more waves.”

\----

Dorian lifted a hand to cup Cullen’s cheek, “Everything’ll be fine,” he promised. And it would be. Or, at least, it would be liveable. The last few weeks hadn’t been. This? This he could handle. Cullen hating him he couldn’t handle. But this? The being close and the way Cullen held him so tightly was good.

Two weeks would be long, though.

But two weeks knowing that Cullen would be home recovering was better than them being on the boat and sniping at one another. “Hey,” Dorian prompted as he traced Cullen’s cheek with one finger, “two weeks. We can do two weeks. Trev’s done awesome with picking the good spots. Maker knows we’ll probably be back in like... nine days.”

\----

Nine days. That was actually feasible, if Trev stayed on it and the crew were focused, even being a man down. They weren't far from coming back to port when that one-two punch of flooded hold and rogue wave hit them, so it's not like this put them _back._ Cullen _knew_ not to get his hopes up, but he could still pray for it - a safe, _short_ trip. He wanted to still be bandaged and bruised when The Herald docked again.

“Trev’ll get it done,” Cullen started, but was cut off again by the sound of the door opening. One of the nurses from before appeared, and then there were stitches in his head, new bandages, a pained walk down a relatively short hallway, paperwork to sign, and another walk to the little room that was his for the night.

“I'll get you more pillows, Mr. Rutherford,” the nurse said in kind and soothing tones.

“Cullen,” he corrected the nurse as he sat on the small hospital bed.

“Right. Cullen. The pillows will help support you so you can breathe. We'll get you all situated,” he went on before looking over at Dorian, “And, ah, if you plan on sleeping, I can get you a cot. It's not _comfortable_ , but it's better than the floor.”

\----

“That would be good, thanks,” Dorian answered with a nod as he helped Cullen lie back. One hand smoothed those blond curls, and he offered the man a small smile before he turned back to the nurse, “so he’s okay to sleep for a while now?” Maker, but Cullen looked like he needed that. The trek down to the room had been hard enough, and as it was they’d probably end up passed out before the nurse even came back.

The cot, though... he’d agreed just because it _wasn’t_ the floor of this rather suspect clinic. A cot only the Maker knew how many people had slept on with no protection probably wasn’t much better. Actually, the floor probably got mopped more than those cots got cleaned. That, however, was a scrub down with rubbing alcohol for another day. Dorian was there for Cullen, probably flea and lice ridden cot and all.

So they waited for the pillows and that cot, which Dorian had taken one look at and offered a tight, tense kind of smile in thanks before the concrete (though maybe stupid) decision was made that he wasn’t going to touch it. Instead he just sat in a chair at the side of Cullen’s bed and trailed his fingers over Cullen’s hand and arm as he watched him drift in and out. Dorian drifted too, head lolled forward until he caught himself and tried to sit up in a way that wouldn’t give him a headache and neck pain later.

Good luck with that.

It was a while later, one of the few times someone had gone in to wake both Cullen and Dorian up, and he startled awake as the nurse bent to shake Cullen’s shoulder with a gentle, “Cullen?” Can you wake up for me? Open your eyes and focus on me for a second.”

“Where am I?” Dorian groused as he wiped a hand over his face. Ugh. He felt... well, worse. Much worse. Everything hurt worse than it had before and that was saying something.

\----

“The clinic,” Cullen answered without opening his eyes.

“Well, that answers one of my questions,” the nurse replied with a smile, “Now, if you could open your eyes for me…”

Cullen complied, answered the nurse's questions, and suffered through having lights aimed into his eyes. After a quick check under the bandages on Cullen's head, the nurse seemed satisfied and left with the promise of dropping in again in two hours.

These little fits and bursts of sleep weren't nearly enough. He'd been drifting in and out all day, but that wasn't the type of sleep that healed anything, it just made everything spin and seem surreal. When they finally let him out of there, he planned on sleeping until he couldn't any more. Hopefully, Dorian could get some sleep on the boat… as much as Cullen enjoyed his presence next to him and the touches and care, he knew this had to be hard on him, too. And now that he was somewhat settled… maybe it was time to face it and rip the band aid off.

“Hey, you,” Cullen prompted softly after the door closed behind their visitor, and reached to take Dorian’s hand. “Looks like you could use a bed and some real sleep. It's… it's going to be more of the same here until they let me out. You should… you should head back before it gets too late. I don't _want_ you to, but you need some rest yourself.”

\----

Oh, but the two hour increments weren’t doing anything for him. It seemed like he was just starting to doze when the door opened again, and Cullen was asked a set of questions that Dorian found himself answering in his head as well. It was exhausting. It was so exhausting that the room was spinning a bit and he felt a little like he was seasick on land. The scary little clinic was practically bobbing, and it was doing absolutely nothing for his nausea.

“I’m not leaving until I have to,” he muttered, voice a bit slurred, “I’m fine, anyway. My childhood dream was to sleep in some feral clinic next to the sea while the man I love is suffering from a head wound. All my goals have been realized.”

He tried to manage a smile, but he could feel that his glasses were sitting crooked on his face and he probably didn’t look as funny as he was trying to sound. Sadly. Putting on a brave front of all this was hard enough, and after nearly a day and a half without any real sleep Dorian felt like it was harder than it should have been.

\----

“Don't forget the broken ribs. Do you get childhood dream bonus points for that?” Cullen chuckled weakly and moved to straighten Dorian's glasses before letting his fingers trail down the scruff on that bronze cheek. Even that move lit up the pain in his chest and made the room spin a bit, and he closed his eyes for a moment to try and get his bearings. “But really,” he went on when he could open his eyes again, “You look about as bad as I feel, love. No offense, but you're not fine. No need to suffer like this - go get some sleep.”

It'd be lonely without him, but Cullen couldn't stand to see him wearing himself out like that. Not for his sake. Not after everything he'd done.

\----

He grunted, “I should bring your stuff up here,” Dorian mused, “so you don’t have to walk down to the boat.” Again, Dorian rubbed a hand over his face before he pushed up his glasses and wiped at his stinging eyes. Maker, they hurt. It was probably good he wasn’t wearing his contacts, since they’d have probably dried up and stuck by now.

Slowly, Dorian sat up a little more and bent over to kiss Cullen’s forehead, “What do you need me to grab? Everything? Or just... some clothes, keys, and that kind of thing?”

\----

He was about to wave Dorian off, to tell him a trip to the boat wasn't really necessary… but then Dorian said the word _keys_ , and that stopped that line of thought altogether. As he was, there really was no way Cullen could make the trip himself - that walk just down the hall to this room had taken enough out of him. A frown crossed Cullen's face as he tried to think of what he'd need and where it likely was. Between the lack of decent sleep and the headache, it was a more challenging task than it really should have been.

“Mmmmm,” he hummed as he thought, “Keys, wallet, and phone at least. Keys and wallet are in the nighstand drawer… the phone and charger should be on it. Anything else I think I can live without for a while - I'm going home about as soon as I can tomorrow.”

_Alone **,**_ he thought sadly. _And banged up._

Suddenly, he was glad Dorian hadn't thought to just call Trev to bring the stuff by. Cullen still wanted a little more time with him, even if they were both so out of it the world was a little wobbly.

\----

He nodded and kissed the top of Cullen’s head again, “Keys, wallet, phone, charger, and I’ll grab some of your clothes so you have something comfortable to go home in, okay?” Dorian offered. Not that he wanted to go. Sleeping in the chair wasn’t ideal, but he also didn’t want to have to go back and see the others just yet.

Having to face them was going to be fun.

But he kissed Cullen again before he stretched and headed out. A walk would probably help wake him up a little, but he’d been reasonably comfortable. That said, the bruises and cut on his face were starting to hurt again, and he didn’t really want to be _that guy_ asking the nurses for something for it while Cullen lay there with broken ribs and the concussion. So a quick stop for something on the boat would probably help that, anyway.

He barely noticed the walk back to the dock. Trev had taken the car they’d driven to the clinic, so he was on foot for now. The little town was a haze around him, and by the time he got back to the boat, he genuinely felt like he might be sick out of sheer exhaustion. All of this was somehow worse than the forty hours working on deck. Then again, during that time he wasn’t worried and heartsick, so that was probably part of it. Dorian hated knowing that he had to leave Cullen in that clinic alone, even for a little while, so he just felt... ugh, awful.

It only took a few minutes to fill up Cullen’s bag with what little he’d been sent for, but Dorian also stuffed one pillow and some clothes in as well. He took a seat on Cullen’s bed just to ease the spinning of his head, and he rested his elbows on his knees as he tried to breathe through the nausea and headache. The bed looked so inviting, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Instead, he rummaged through the drawer beside the bed in case he forgot anything and smiled a bit when he saw the little stack of notes hidden there. He’d kept them. Cullen kept them.

Dorian looked through them, smiled as he read through one or two, and ran his fingers over the more crumpled one. _That_ one. That one that had been so important and so... special, in its own way. He tucked them all in the bag too, and hugged the bag to his chest as he looked around the room. That was it. That was all Cullen had sent him for, and then some, so... he should go, right? He should go back and hand it off.

His gaze settled on Cullen’s coat hanging on the back of the closet door, and after a second he looked back down at the bag he held before he set the bag on the floor and grabbed up the little notebook and pen that stayed on Cullen’s bedside table. Surely the man wouldn’t mind it if he borrowed one piece of paper, right? So he settled himself on the bunk for the moment while he willed his mind to focus long enough to write... something. Something that said all the things that he wanted to say. But what _did_ he want to say?

When he was done, he tucked that note into Cullen’s coat pocket and headed back out again. Another walk, another check in at the clinic, and then Dorian was back and kissing Cullen’s cheek. “Hey stranger,” he murmured, “can you tell me where you are?”

\----

When Dorian left, Cullen sighed, inasmuch as he could, and pulled the pillows in closer around him. His head was throbbing. His back hurt from having to lie just so he could breathe. His chest stabbed when he breathed deeply, which he was instructed to do after each check in. Part of him couldn't wait for the night to be over so he could fill those prescriptions, go home, and just pass out for days.

At the same time, though, part of him didn't want the night to end. The more he dozed, the farther forward time marched, the less they had. That was the selfish part of him, though. That was the part that wanted to sweep Dorian off back to his house and pretend like this strange, painful trip never happened. As Cullen's eyes closed, he pictured it: the two of them leaving this clinic together, going back to where it had been so happy for too short a time.

But that had been _before_ , and things weren't so easy. Now… now there would be time apart. To heal. To think. And what if… what if during the next trip, in all that thinking, Dorian realized he'd been too hasty in his actions… in his apparent forgiveness? Cullen had been hurt. Emotions ran high, and then exhaustion had set in. That wasn't the best time to be making decisions with lasting impacts.

If that happened, Cullen would have to respect it. For now, his mind wasn't ready to contemplate _what if_ s or the complications of things to come. He dozed off before he could even make it past the very idea that perhaps what he'd done required more than a conversation that was colored by the urgency of the situation.

It felt like he'd just closed his eyes when someone was asking him a question. That seemed to be the way here - fitful sleep interrupted by the same 5 or 6 questions. Ad infinitum.

But this time, the question came with a kiss and the scent of vanilla and cloves and Cullen smiled, something that brightened his face in spite of the dark circles under his eyes and the bandages on his head. “Long time no see,” he teased back and opened his eyes. Dorian. He looked more awake than he had been before he left, but that really wasn't saying much. It was clear to Cullen that the man needed rest, and his little fantasy of keeping him there and leaving in the morning together faded out into non-existence. Dorian had to go. He had to go back to the boat and sleep and then finish out the season so he could get paid and get himself established somewhere. So he could move forward. Cullen hoped, after all this, he would be allowed a part in that.

His eyes slid to the bag in Dorian's hand and the coat over his arm. More than he'd asked for, of course it was. Thoughtful to the last, was Dorian, and Cullen’s smile grew a bit for it. “Thanks for rounding all that up. I hope the guys haven't started in with the grief… yet. You know they will.” He paused for a moment, “Oh. The clinic, by the way. To answer your question. Don't tell the nurse I didn't right away.”

\----

Dorian smiled and bent his head to kiss Cullen’s lips. He looked so tired, so out of it, and Dorian just wanted... Maker, he would have crawled into that bed with him if the nurses weren’t still coming in. It would have been nice. Instead, he just took a seat on the bed beside Cullen and cupped his face with one hand as he kissed him again.

“Mm hmm,” he agreed, “and do you know who I am?” A smile, one that was more than the one before, and he trailed his fingers along Cullen’s jaw.

\----

Oh, but that smile was beautiful. That smile, along with the kisses and the fingers that ran gentle lines along his jaw… they eased some of that pain and made his heart feel something closer to what it felt like before the day everything fell apart. Lighter, warmer… a little more normal. A little more right. This was how they should be… well, maybe without the head wound and broken ribs… but the kisses and the warmth, even the bit of teasing - no, _especially_ the little bit of teasing - all that was what Cullen wanted again.

One hand raised to cover Dorian’s. “Let me think,” he said, creasing his brow and feigning deep thought, “You certainly _seem_ familiar. I know I’ve seen you somewhere…” He carried on with the ruse for a bit before he couldn’t help but crack a smile, mischievous at first but softening quickly into something warm and caring before he turned his head to kiss Dorian’s palm. “Ah, that’s right… You’re the man I love.”

\----

Maker take him. How was he supposed to walk away from Cullen and go back to that cold boat when he was so sweet? Dorian’s heart pounded and his stomach did _flips_ that had nothing to do with the nausea he’d been feeling before. It was a warm feeling, one that flooded his veins and made him want to just curl in against that solid frame until they both felt better. The kiss, too, was just... this was the man that loved him. Of everything else in the world, this was the man that loved him.

“They must have you on the good drugs if you’re being so sappy,” he teased, then leaned in to kiss those lips again, “one more question, hm?” Dorian let his hand run to Cullen’s hair and he brushed his fingers through what stuck out from the bandage. He didn’t want to touch anywhere that hurt, but he wanted so much to touch him in a way that might help make him feel better. “Let’s see,” he mused as he just carded his fingers through those curls, “what do I have on my back?”

The nurse didn’t say he had to follow the questions they asked, after all. Something more interesting was probably welcome after having to recite where they were, what his name was, and what the name of the boat was every two hours since that morning. Again, Dorian smiled and just trailed his fingers through those soft curls and then back down to brush through the thick scruff at Cullen’s jaw.

\----

All of that tenderness… Cullen could feel it in his bones, and he knew he didn't deserve a second of it, but he found he didn't care. He didn't let that stop him from revelling in it, letting it soothe over rough spots and basking in the warmth, soaking it all up for as long as he could. Which wouldn't be long. Soon, Dorian would walk out that door and _really_ be gone, out to sea and out of reach. No more kisses, no more touches or laughs, not for a while, anyway.

Always assuming he still wanted that when he returned.

So, wincing, Cullen reached up to grasp the back of Dorian's neck and pull the man back down into another kiss. One that lasted, and Cullen savored the heat and taste on his lips as he felt himself melting for it. _I love you. You're everything to me, now and always, and I love you._

“Wings,” he breathed as they parted. “A perfect set of wings so you can soar... but also to remind you not to go so high the sun beats you down.” He paused for a moment and let his thumb stroke over the smooth, bronze skin of Dorian's cheek. “But I don't think that’s possible. The _sea_ hasn't beaten you... I don't think anything can knock you down, love. More proof that they're really angel wings, I think.”

\----

That actually made the hint of a blush fill his cheeks. Dorian could feel them heat, but with the scruff on his face he wasn’t so sure it would be that visible. Still, those words warmed him all the way through to his toes and Dorian just smiled. He rested his forehead gently against Cullen’s for a long moment as they just... breathed. Together, they breathed. That was good.

But _Maker_ , he was so tired he was so tired it hurt. Everything hurt and the longer he sat the worse he felt. That dizziness was starting again. Soon, Dorian would need to sleep. Real sleep. Not sleep in a chair. “You’re too sweet to me,” he murmured. What Cullen called him hadn’t escaped him, which Dorian would tuck away for later, and that warmed him too. Slowly he moved away and just studied Cullen’s face, “Are you going to be okay?” he asked, “at home, I mean?”

Not that he worried for Cullen’s _safety_ so much, but he did worry that Cullen wouldn’t rest like he was supposed to because he felt bad for not being at work. Something like that.

\----

“No, you’re too sweet,” Cullen replied with a wistful little smile, “Worrying about me. Maker, I’ll be on dry land… and you’re going back out there. You worry about you right now, ok?” Dorian was fading now - Cullen could see it in his eyes - and he needed every bit of energy to stay safe on the boat. As healing and wonderful as this closeness was… and it _was_ wonderful, even with the exhaustion and injury… Dorian needed to get somewhere so he could recharge and gather his strength. “I’ll be fine, really. I’ll get my meds in the morning, and my plan after that begins and ends with passing out on my bed for as long as I can stand it. So don’t you worry yourself over me.”

Cullen sighed, still smiling though his eyes were sad now. “ _I’m_ going to worry about you, though. I know you’ll be safe, I do, but still… and you need to go get some sleep. Maker knows it’s scarce out there, so you should get it while you can.”

\----

He sighed, “I’m not sure that I can make that walk again for a bit,” and closed his eyes. For now, he just wanted to be close to Cullen for a little while longer. Then he’d get up and go. Soon. Eventually. “Maker, I’d lie down with you for a bit if they weren’t still coming in to check on you,” Dorian commented before he turned and kissed Cullen’s cheek.

“Trev will have that satellite phone,” he mused, “you should call when you get home and settled. I think he’d feel better knowing you got there alright. Which means he’ll tell me, and I’ll certainly feel better.”

\----

“I intend to…” Cullen answered, then fell quiet for a while, skating the edge of consciousness and sleep. It was a real problem - the need for sleep and the desire to get as much out of this limited time together. “You know,” he said after a while, voice a little thick for the sleep in it, as he reached for Dorian’s hand. “I'm sure these nurses’ve seen worse than two people dozing off together in a bed. And you'd most definitely be better support than these _pillows_ , if you want to call them that. Just… ah… putting that out there.” And there was a little hope in his tone. Hope because he couldn't think of anything better than feeling those arms around him. Hope because there would be nothing more truly calming than feeling the rise and fall of Dorian's chest as he breathed. Hope because he knew they'd soon be parted… and who knew what the future held?

\----

“You are such an enabler, you know that?” Dorian asked with a chuckle. That said, Cullen didn’t have any IVs or anything like that. It wouldn’t _hurt_ to lie down with him, would it? Even for an hour. He had an hour. “Alright, scoot,” Dorian told him and shooed Cullen a bit with one hand, “and if anything’s uncomfortable, tell me.”

He stretched himself out beside Cullen and lay his head on the... well, Cullen was right- ‘pillow’ was probably being generous. Still, it was better than the chair. Dorian cuddled in as close as he could and buried his nose in against Cullen’s shoulder. That was good. Immediately, his body relaxed, and Dorian wrapped an arm around Cullen’s waist as he got in as close as possible.

Dorian stayed for another two hour stretch, woke when the nurse came in, and left Cullen with a kiss and a promise that Cullen would call once he got home so they knew how he was. It was cold walk back to the boat, one that ended with him going to Cullen’s room and falling down into the other man’s bunk so he could sleep. He’d get up eventually and tell Trev what was going on, and maybe do some actual work, but he was too tired now.

He didn’t wake up until they left town, and even then it was a labor to drag himself out of bed so he could at least film some of it.


	29. Give, For Wild Confusion, Peace [2 of 4]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian finds himself the center of conversation on The Herald, while Cullen tries not to worry as he recovers back at home... alone.

  


It felt odd to Trev - pulling away from Gwaren knowing that his second - his _friend_ \- was lying in a bed in a clinic, busted and broken. More than odd… it felt _wrong_. But Trev knew that was for the best. It'd be hard without Cullen, and poor Barris had had to spend the entire time in town running around and wrapping up the paperwork that certified him to legally steer the boat, but they'd make do. They always did.

The important thing was that Cullen was healing, and all that ridiculous _are they aren't they_ drama seemed to be… smoothing out a bit. It had been deeply amusing last season and the beginning of this one, seeing them thinking they were being so damn sneaky. But then something had changed, and it just got sad after that. After seeing them together in the clinic, Trev was hoping that drama, at least, was in the past.

He sighed heavily and checked the nav computers. He'd taken The Herald out into open waters, but that was about as far as he could go. Cullen and Dorian weren't the only ones who hadn't slept, and while he usually stayed at the helm longer, it was dangerous for him to be in the wheelhouse much longer. So, he called a very sleepy-looking Barris up for his first official shift at the wheel, gave him his marching orders, and made his way to the galley for a bite to eat before sleep.

Trev wasn't surprised to see Dorian down there with his gear, still looking a bit run down, but better than he had when Trev had last seen him. “You look about as tired as I feel. Sure you should be up and at ‘em yet?”

\----

It hadn’t been enough sleep. It hadn’t been enough of _anything_ , honestly, which was why Dorian was remaking coffee and trying to find something to eat that would be relatively easy. Being out on the water again made that sick feeling a little worse, but... food was important. Food, coffee, more sleep, then he could do this. He could. He could work and know Cullen was home and okay and _healing_. That was good.

He did, however, jump a bit, when Trev spoke, and Dorian turned before he laughed a little, “Not at all,” Dorian answered honestly, but gestured to the coffee, “but important things first, you know? Give me five minutes and you can have something that doesn’t taste burnt.” One hand lifted to rub at his eyes behind his glasses, and Dorian sighed. “Cullen was pretty okay when I left,” he went on after a moment, “ready to get out of there and go home for a while, but... okay.”

A small smile, then, “There may have been something in there about you and I playing nice, but that might have been the pain medication. I don’t even know.”

\----

“Funny, considering I'm _pretty_ sure I said the same thing to him about you once upon a time.” Trev chuckled as he moved to help Dorian in the kitchen. “Glad he's ok - or as ok as he can be, anyway. I honestly expected more of a fight from him. He's a bit stubborn… not sure if you noticed.” Trev set a pan heating on the stove for eggs as he pondered the situation they were in. Months ago, he'd been playing referee for these two, but now… “I, ah… it's none of my business as long as it doesn't affect the boat, but I hope you two got some things sorted…”

\----

Dorian smiled a little, “We did. We... fought, and we talked, and I think we got most of it handled. Some assumptions on both our parts, you know?” he answered. Trev was Cullen’s friend, just as much as he was Cullen’s boss, and it didn’t bother him to talk about it. Trev _needed_ to know these things. They affected him, though maybe not the boat directly, just because he was so close to Cullen. “I love him,” Dorian went on, “so much. More than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life.”

He leaned back against the bench, grey eyes watching Trev with that pan, and he took a breath, “has he always been so fucking stubborn or is that a Deck Boss thing? He told me a few stories about when you two worked together on deck... I’m trying to picture Big Bad Cullen as the greenhorn. In my head, it’s all a little hilarious.”

\----

“Well, I'm pretty sure stubborn’s in his DNA,” Trev answered with a snort. “For a greenhorn, he was just about the most serious, set-in-his-ways son of a bitch I ever met. We _tried_ hazing him his first trip out - dumped an ass ton of freezing water on him from up in the stacks. He just looks at us, right… and we'd all been on this boat for a while at that point… I was the _deck boss_ , for Andraste’s sake, but here was the shiny new greenhorn looking at us with that _look_ he gets you know, and he had it even in his 20s - all stern and disapproving - and there we were, all of us feeling like the biggest bunch of assholes on the ocean. Like we'd just disappointed our dads or something. Course, _I_ knew where he’d come from, but none of the others knew he’d been a knight-captain once upon a time.”

Trev got started on frying up some eggs for the two of them and nudged Dorian, “Bacon? Toast? Anything other than eggs is your job. Oh!” he said with a laugh and a quick wink, “I should tell you about the first time Cullen tried to cook on the boat...”

\----

One eyebrow cocked for all this. He’d expected some little quip about Cullen’s past, not full on stories. Back at the clinic, Dorian had a feeling, Cullen’s ears would be burning. But he set to put some bread in the toaster, if only because the idea of bacon made him want to be a bit more sick at the moment, and leaned back against the bench so he could look at Trev.

“He tried to cook?” Dorian asked, “I mean... I’ve seen him at home, and that’s interesting enough. On here, though? Did he set something on fire? He set something on fire, didn’t he.”

\----

_At home, huh?_

Trev grinned as worked with the eggs and cast his mind back to almost eight years ago… in this very kitchen. “No, thank the Maker… but just about everything else that could have gone wrong did. Which, you know, after he _refused_ to let us enjoy our little prank was pretty damn funny.” A deft flip of the wrist flipped the eggs in the pan, and Trev chuckled. “I put him on breakfast duty after a while, him being green and all. And oh, that name bugged the ever living shit out of him. ‘ _I'm not green - I grew up fishing!’_ And he had… but not like this. He'd never gone out for weeks at a time in frozen waters… had definitely never _cooked_ on a boat. But he thought he knew everything. I missed the chaos, but by the time I got down here, all the guys were holding their sides laughing and he was covered - _covered -_ with eggs and batter. So was the floor and everything else, if I'm being honest. The bacon was somehow raw and burnt to a crisp. Damn toast was cinders. Needless to say, we had cereal that meal.  But even he was laughing at the mess.” Trev grabbed two plates down for them, still smiling for the memories. “You know, I think that was the first time I saw him smile, to be honest...”

\----

Dorian was filing all that away for later. He’d have to bring that up on one of those nights where Cullen wanted to cook. Not in a mean way, but he’d have to ask whether or not there would be batter and eggs on everything. That would be good. “I think this job was...  _is_ good for him,” Dorian mused as he pulled the toast from the toaster and fished out some butter from the fridge, “gives him people to look after. He seems to like that kind of thing.”

A small smile touched his face, and Dorian set to spreading the butter on, “he worries a bit like a mother hen, doesn’t he? You wouldn’t think it to look at him, but he really does.”

\----

“You're not wrong there,” Trev replied, plating up those eggs and passing the plates along to Dorian for toast. He moved to grab a mug, and his smile slid into something more serious. “He's a good man, you know. Rough around the edges, but good. And the way he's been with you… after that little, ah, shall we say _kerfuffle_ first season… well…” He leaned over for the coffee pot and clapped Dorian on the shoulder as he did. “You might be better for him than this job. It's about time he let someone take care of him… not that he'll admit he needs it. And _you'll_ have to have the patience of a saint, of course.”

\----

“I’m learning that,” he answered, and smiled a little as he looked over his shoulder at Trev, “it worries me a little that he thinks he doesn’t _deserve_ anything like that.” Of course Cullen _did_ deserve it. He deserved that and more. He deserved to have people who loved him all around him for the rest of his life, and Dorian hoped against hope that he’d be one of the ones included in that.

“But I love him,” Dorian went on, “Maker help me. Maybe one day he’ll come to terms with not feeling guilty about it.”

\----

“Mmm,” Trev hummed through a sip of coffee before he swallowed. “He does carry that shit around with him. But he'll get there… I mean, part of me can't even believe I'm standing here talking about this - shit, he told me he loved you a few days ago, that's how much he's changed since you got on the boat. Though, ah, if he hasn't shared that particular piece of information with you yet, you didn't hear it from me.”

\----

That made him smile, and Dorian bit into his toast. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment before he licked his lips, “He did tell me,” he said, “not too long after he woke up, actually.” Even now, hearing that Cullen loved him made him feel warm and a bit melted on the inside. That Trev knew, too... that was something. Something big.

“You know I never meant to put anything weird on you guys,” he offered after a moment, “I know it’s your situation with the show if something were to happen with us, and I don’t want to fuck that up. And I wouldn’t ever want to put Cullen’s job in a weird place. So, you know, just putting it out here... and I did tell him, more or less, that if I have to rethink my situation here because it’s bigger than me, I’m willing to do that. I don’t want to put you or him in a bad spot.”

\----

Trev nodded a few times as he finished the bite of eggs he was working on. It had been a long day, and he found that he was famished on top of being exhausted, touchy feely conversation or not. “Well, good,” he finally said, “And I appreciate it, but no one's job was ever in danger from me… I do have to say, though… it _was_ kind of fun watching you guys thinking you were being all covert.” He nudged Dorian with his elbow before digging into those eggs again. “For the record… It sucks the way it happened, but I'm glad you're working through it. The early days, when you're feeling each other out… they're hard enough without all this crabbing nonsense.”

\----

Dorian smiled and tucked into his food. It was nice to have that vote of confidence, actually. Knowing that maybe there was someone else hoping they’d figure it all out was heartening. Trev was a good guy, a really good guy, and Dorian respected him. He respected his opinion and his friendship, such as it was, and he was happy to know that Trev didn’t think he was a bad influence.

“Thanks,” he answered and finished off his toast before he sighed. With everything going on, Dorian hadn’t realized how hungry he was. He’d felt sick, nauseated from not enough sleep and too much adrenaline, but the food helped some. At least he felt something like normal. More sleep would have been good, though. Maker, he could have slept for days.

He sighed then, “Cullen’s told me a little about, uh... is it Josephine?” Dorian offered, “she sounds pretty great. I hope I can handle the ‘crabbing nonsense’ as well as she does.”

\----

Trev grinned around his last bite of toast. “He told you about my Josie? She's the best… we're night and day, you know, but it works. I'm always ready to go home to her… not that you lot aren't great, but you know.” He yawned as he put his plate in the sink. Someone would deal with it later… probably Alistair. He at least had the decency to rinse it off, though. “Alright. I think that's quite enough with the feelings for one night. I'm gonna turn in while I still can. You should, too. We'll be knocking ice before you know it… exciting footage, that.”

\----

Yes. Sleep. Maker help him, sleep sounded phenomenal. Though for a moment, and _just_ a moment he considered where he ought to sleep: his bunk or Cullen’s. A snicker, a shake of his head, and Dorian knew. _Like it’s actually a decision_. So he went and made himself comfortable in Cullen’s bunk like he’d done before. The mattress was softer, sheets nicer, and it _smelled_ like Cullen when Dorian pressed his face into the pillows. That was nice. It helped him drop off even faster than he probably would have. He slept soundly until the alarm on his phone went off and he heard Trev on the loudspeaker.

“Fuck,” Dorian hissed as he got to his feet and his full weight hit his legs. Everything hurt. Bad. His head pounded, his knees shook, and Maker help him he was going to have to go out there and listen to them pound ice off the boat. Ugh.

Eventually he made it outside. The weather was, as Trev had said in the clinic, fucking terrible. Snow, wind, high spray, and it was actually still fucking _dark_. Dorian was dressed in layers, two of which were Cullen’s thicker shirts, and it still wasn’t enough.

It was going to be a _long_ trip.

\----

The doctor cleared Cullen the next morning, as he assumed she would, and after a barrage of instructions for home care that were, in Cullen's estimation, entirely unnecessary, he carefully shouldered the bag Dorian brought him, got those prescriptions filled at the little pharmacy next to the clinic, and went straight home after. The drive home was… interesting, and Cullen found himself wishing he owned an automatic for the way the pain in his chest bloomed each time he shifted gears with gritted teeth and a grunt. Still, the stabbing at his ribs kept him awake enough to stay above that odd, dizzy haze he'd been in all night. At least there was that.

Finally home, he dropped everything at the door except the little white paper bag that contained his meds. He had every intention to toss them back dry and collapse into bed, but he heard Dorian's voice in his head urging him to eat something first and that… well, it reminded his addled brain he had a call to make. After fishing his phone out of his bag, he dialed up The Herald’s satellite phone. It rang enough times for Cullen to think maybe Trev wasn't around for some reason, but finally, the call connected.

“This is The Herald,” an unexpected voice greeted Cullen.

“... Barris?”

“Yeah, man. Is this Cullen?”

“It is,” Cullen began and pulled the phone away from his ear to see the time. Trev didn't normally turn in this early, but then again, it'd been a rough time for everyone. “Trev already slacking?”

“Funny,” Barris answered. “You just missed him by about 15 minutes. Want me to see if he's still awake?”

“Nah, let him sleep. Just, ah, tell him I'm home ok and the doc says I should heal ok.”

“Sure thing, boss. You're ok then? That was a nasty tumble. Should have seen it from across the deck.”

“I lived it. Trust me, I'm aware. But yeah, I'm supposed to lay low for a while and rest, but I'll be ok.”

“The guys’ll be glad to hear it. But you actually have to, you know, _rest_.”

“Alright, Doctor Delrin, I know.”

Barris chuckled for that. “Listen… I'll let everyone know you're safe and all. Is there anything you want me to tell… anyone?”

“I guess everyone's asleep?”

“Yep.”

Cullen sighed. His mind was still a messy heap of things that he really didn't have the energy to sort through, though he knew there were a great many things he wanted to tell… _someone._ Did he really want that relayed through Barris, though?

“Just, ah, tell Trev that I'll see him in port and he better keep that boat in one piece,” he chuckled and paused for a bit before adding, “And Barris… ah, let Dorian know I'm ok. And that Rosie’s chocolates are in a box in my closet - I meant to share them, but things happened. And also…” he breathed out again and rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Tell him… tell him...”

“That you're going to miss him and you're praying that he'll come back safely and you'll see him soon?”

Cullen could hear the amusement in the voice of the normally serious man. Great. “Yes, all of that. And also… _shit_ … send him my love - in _private_ \- and don't you _dare_ fucking start laughing.”

He heard a snort on the other end of the phone. Not laughing was an impossible ask, it seemed. At least it was Barris on the line and not Samson, though. He’d never live it down if it had been Samson. That was something, anyway.

“Sorry, sorry,” Barris chuckled, “I'm a little punch drunk here… no sleep, you know. I think it's _sweet_.”

“Oh, stop,” Cullen groused, but there was just the slightest smile curling his lips as he did. “But look… you did a damn fine job on deck, just wanted to tell you. Thanks for stepping up, man.”

“No problem… had the best teacher.”

“Now who's _sweet_?”

“Shouldn't you be resting?”

“Shouldn't _you_ be steering the boat?”

“Alright, alright. You take care, man. We'll see you soon.”

“Have a good trip, Barris. See you soon.”

The conversation, though it wasn't very long, thoroughly wiped Cullen out. Strangely, though, it went a long way towards making him feel at least a little better. Like maybe he could sleep without all that guilt for not being out there… or a little less guilt, anyway.

After eating a couple of crackers, Cullen knocked back the pills with some water, stripped out of his clothes with absolutely no grace, and climbed into bed, pulling pillows around him for support. As chance would have it, the one he hugged to keep him on his side had been the one Dorian slept on, so Cullen drifted under with a smile on his lips and the scent of shampoo and Dorian around him.

So it wasn't all bad.

\----

Once he was up and doing on deck, Dorian couldn’t help but have to force himself to get his head on correctly and work. Slowly he managed to get back into the thick of it. Watching them work on the ice was exhausting anyway, and he sidled up to where Barris and Samson were working with a broom and a hammer.

He smiled over the viewfinder of his camera up at them, “Are we having fun yet, boys?” he asked, “like Whack-A-Mole, but with five inches of ice?”

\----

“Yeah, except out here…” Barris started as he swung the sledge up and over his head before bringing it crashing down on the sizeable hunk of ice he'd been working at. “... Every hit is a winner. Or a loser, however you want to look at it. But hey, it's good exercise. You should try it.” With that, he grinned and delivered another mighty blow to his icy foe, sending ice scattering across the deck in pieces. He still had message to give to Dorian, but somehow, he figured Cullen wouldn't want it delivered in front of anyone. Well, his insistent ‘ _in private’_ had made that much clear, hadn't it? Still, part of it wasn't for Dorian's ears only, and he wasn't sure if anyone had told the cameraman yet.

“But before that… I heard from Cullen. Called up on the satphone... Says he's fine and resting up at home.”

Hopefully, he could catch up with Dorian when Samson wasn't around to deliver the rest. Silly as it felt to be telling one man that another… _sends his love_ as a favor… he did say he'd do it, and Barris had always been proud of his follow-through.

\----

Thank the Maker. In a way, that helped ease Dorian, and he found some of his more tense muscles relax a little. He smiled, one that was more private and warm, then caught himself before he rubbed a hand through his hair, “Uh... good,” he managed after a moment, “he said he was pretty ready to go home and sleep the painkiller off when I saw him last, so that’s good.”

That was not too emotional, right?

Samson chuckled, “Surprised he didn’t put up more of a fight about coming back,” and swept some of the ice away with the broom, “or did he and Trev shut him down?”

“Bit of both, really,” Dorian answered, “he wasn’t happy, but... you know, logic and all that.”

\----

“Logic, sure,” Barris said, swinging his hammer in smaller arcs now that he was done with the dramatics for the camera. “If you don't mind my saying so, there's been a bit less of that on deck lately. Glad he saw _some_ reason, though. Can you imagine him out in this with… how many broken ribs did you say?”

\----

“Two and a bruised one,” Dorian answered with a wince, “and I didn’t know you weren’t supposed to wrap them if they’re broken. I always assumed that’s what you did, so... I learned something.”

“I’d say you’ve picked up a _few_ things on this boat, eh, _Sparkler_?” Samson teased with a grin, “stopped you wearing that eyeliner from the first few days.”

Dorian rolled his eyes and moved his hand out of frame so he could flip Samson off, which earned him a full laugh and a shake of the head. “I make it a point not to put sharp things near my face while we’re rolling,” he pointed out, “you lot could learn a bit about that from me.”

“Oh, yeah,” Samson laughed, “and gut the bait how, exactly? Plastic spoon?”

“You’re resourceful,” Dorian teased, and winked at Barris, “You guys figure it out.”

“Hey, Boss!” Blackwall shouted from behind them, “other side’s mostly clear. Want me and the kid to start up on the stack or wait til you guys are done?”

\----

“Damn, that's gonna take some getting used to,” Barris muttered before yelling over, “We've been at this for a while… there's time for a quick break, I think.” Then, he planted the head of the hammer on the deck and leaned against the handle. “And just Barris is fine. You know the real boss’ll be back next season.”

“Yeah, he'll be back,” Samson added as he finished sweeping the last of the busted ice off the deck, “Question is… which boss will he be? Normal stick-up-his-ass Rutherford? Pissed-off-at-the-world Rutherford? Moony-eyed-dopey Rutherford? We got a taste of all of ‘em this year.”

“ _Dopey_ Rutherford?” Alistair asked as he and Blackwall joined the group. “Watch out… he probably knows you're talking shit about him even from all the way out here.”

“I'm just saying he was all over the place this year is all…”

\----

Both of Dorian’s eyebrows rose for that, “I think ‘dopey’ might be a bit much,” he pointed out before he cleared his throat. He’d worried the others might think their relationship was... well, not something to celebrate, and he was starting to wonder if Samson didn’t approve.

“I hear that happens when you meet someone,” Blackwall chuckled, then gave Samson a look, “not that you’d know. Someone would actually have to _like_ you for that to happen.” At that, he cast a glance at Dorian and winked, “besides, I think Moon-Eyed Rutherford was my favorite. Like he thought he was slick.”

“I don’t know that I want to hear any more of this,” Dorian complained, “all of you talking about my relationship’s a bit weird.”

\----

Samson shook his head and made a noise that _could_ have been apologetic. “I didn't mean anything by it. There's no one better’n him when shit goes south - you saw that…”

“I'll have to tell him you spoke so highly of him… he might end up back in the clinic from the shock,” Barris laughed.

Blackwall clapped a hand on Dorian's shoulder. “Don't you mind him,” he said, waving a hand at Samson, “Sam and Rutherford go way back. They bicker like children, but don't think for a second they're not friends. They just _know_ what buttons to press… and Sam likes to press buttons just to see what happens.”

“It's the engineer in me,” Samson grinned. “Course, I didn't see this coming…” he added and flicked his wrist toward Dorian.

“That would make you about the only one,” Alistair chuckled. “Who didn't at least suspect it, anyway. I just… I _knew_ something was up with you two. Oh, I bet he's secretly a romantic under all that gruff. Did he just absolutely fill your hotel room with flowers and chocolates over the break?”

Barris’ head perked up then. “Actually, he did say something about chocolate… Someone named Rosie? They're in his closet anyway. Said he was going to share, but stuff happened.”

\----

Well, the chocolate would certainly make the next few days more tolerable. “His sister,” Dorian commented, then rolled his eyes at Alistair, “and _no_ , he didn’t. I... stayed with him. At his place. And there were no flowers. There _was_  a restored car, but it was all very rugged and manly.”

It felt good to tease, though, and Dorian hefted his camera back up, “So do you guys want to record a get well message, is that what you’re saying? Or just ask me for all the sexy details?”

“And that’s where I draw the line,” Blackwall said, “coffee. Much coffee. Coffee before romance, always.”

\----

“Oh, Maker, I'm coming with you,” Samson added as the two men made their way back towards the galley, “But you better share some of Rosie’s chocolates. I can't believe Rutherford was holding out like that.”

Alistair scoffed as he watched them go. “Well _I_ want details… not, ah, sexy ones… but like… when? And _why_? You go for that stoic, yelling thing?”

“And, not that it's our business,” Barris added, “But why the hiding?”

“Oh, good question. Better than mine. Answer his first,” Alistair added eagerly.

\----

The fact that they were _interested_ was a bit weird. Dorian had never known anyone that was _interested_ in his relationships, except for maybe Felix, so this was... strange. The fact that they were looking at him like that, with actual interest in their eyes, was actually kind of nice. It made him feel like he was a part of something.

“Maybe once you guys finish,” Dorian answered, then gestured to the mic packs, “I’ll explain it all. But for now I don’t really want it where it can be picked up. You know?” He cocked an eyebrow then, “we’ll save storytime for later.”

Even though Cullen wasn’t on the boat, Dorian didn’t want to put their business where it could really be heard. Whatever the show had on tape could be used per the agreements signed, and Dorian didn’t want to betray Cullen’s trust just because he wasn’t _there_ to try to hide it. That... would be wrong.

“But I’ll tell you. Later.”

\----

“Later, then,” Alistair grumped, then smiled and turned back to follow Samson and Blackwall to the galley. “I'll hold you to it.”

Barris held Dorian back for a moment, waiting until Alistair was out of earshot. He reached back to turn off his mic out of respect for what Dorian had intimated and Cullen's wishes for privacy. “Hold up a second,” he said, “There's a little more that Cullen said.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking out across the sea. This was… well, not his specialty. Still… he said he would. “He, ah… he said he'll miss you and that he's praying for a safe trip and…” Barris rubbed a hand over his face before looking back over at Dorian. “Hesendshislove.” And that's how he said it. Fast and all together. Just… to get it out.

\----

He blinked once, then twice at Barris’ words, and Dorian let out a laugh. It took a moment, tired as he was, to parse, that, but leave it to these big, strong men to say something like that _like that_. Maker help him. Ah well. It was sweet. It was sweet that Cullen had said it, and sweet that Barris had passed the message along. He didn’t have to, but he had. That was nice.

“Thanks,” Dorian said, then smiled, “I, uh, appreciate that.” And he did. He really did.

It warmed him all the way through, and Dorian took a breath before he rocked back on his heels. That helped him feel a little better, actually. This whole morning had, in its own way. He could make it through this trip, even though it had started off with him being exhausted and bruised up. It was going to be okay.

“Come on,” he prompted, and nodded toward the door heading inside, “Coffee. You look like you could use it after that.”

\----

Cullen had next to no memory of the first two days. Not because of any damage to his head - just because that’s how much sleep he'd needed. Those days had been a cyclical haze of sleep, scrounge up something to eat, take his meds, repeat the whole thing again. He was pretty sure there’d been a shower in there somewhere… either that or a very strange dream… but he couldn’t be entirely sure. But now, on the morning of the third day, he felt _present_. More like himself, despite the lingering aches and pains that broke through the dull layer of the medication.

Which, of course, meant that his mind had engaged again… and it was painfully aware of how alone he was. It was like the first week or so of the short break, only worse. Much worse. Dorian wasn’t a text away, he was an entire ocean away. So, Cullen stumbled around the house aimlessly, made himself the first real meal he'd eaten in days and barely picked at it, took a shower - for sure this time - and tried not to think of how much he missed Dorian. Or how much Cullen had hurt him - hurt _them_ \- when he'd assumed the worst.

That was, of course, an exercise in futility.

Still, he tried. The morning faded into the afternoon while he tried to find something to focus on that wasn't _‘I miss him’_ or _‘Maker, I'm an idiot’_ or _‘Wonder if Trev’s found the crab again.’_ He tried until he couldn't any more, and he just needed to talk to someone. He was done trying to work out his frustration alone in his own battered head. So, Cullen plucked his phone from the charger and quickly scrolled through to the one person he always called when things weren't so great. _Mia._

He tapped her name, put the phone to his ear… and waited.

\----

“You’re back early,” Mia answered after she picked up on the third ring, “Trev must’ve done well this season if you’re home already.” She chuckled then, “did you just get in?”

\----

Oh. Well. This was going to require rather more explanation than he’d intended. When he called, Cullen had been thinking he’d have to first explain that he’d _found_ someone, and then nearly lost him… he hadn’t even thought about how she’d take the news of his less-than-triumphant return to land.

“Ah. Well… yes, it was a good season. Or the part that I was there for. You have to promise not to yell, ok?”

\----

There was a pause, “And why would I yell?” Mia asked slowly. The phone crackled a bit as she quietly shushed one of this kids in the background, then sent them on their way. “Sorry,” she sighed, “ _someone_ wants to watch that damn dinosaur movie again. And I might’ve hid it in my closet for the next couple of months before I lose my mind.” A breath, then, “now why am I yelling? What happened? Are you okay?”

\----

“I like that movie,” Cullen muttered before biting his lip and huffing through his nose. He was fairly sure his sister was about to let him have it, but even so… it was good to know there were those in his life who truly cared. Enough to yell. Which she was definitely going to do.

“Before I even tell you, I’m fine now. It’s over and I’m home and safe. So remember that, ok?” He took another breath and winced, partly for the pain in his chest… but mostly with anticipation. “The boat took a wave and I couldn’t get a hold on anything, so it threw me. Got banged up pretty good. Bump to the head. A couple of cracked ribs. That’s it. Doc said I had to take it easy, and Trev wouldn’t hear otherwise… so here I am.”

\----

Another pause. “Cracked or _broken_?” she asked gently, “and just a ‘bump’? They don’t send you guys home for a bump. Even I know that. They don’t unless you’re, like, missing part of your arm or something." 

\----

Cullen chuckled nervously and pushed a few loose curls out of his face before shifting around in his seat. “Well, broken, yes. Two on one side and apparently ribs can be bruised, because I have one of those on the other side.” Now for the head wound. That was a little trickier. “And the head thing… I mean, it looked nasty. The doctor had me stay there overnight so they could check in… but it’s stitched up now and everything’s fine… aside from a headache. And I’ll probably have another scar, but…” He let his voice trail off. His body was full of scars… he should be used to them by now, but they all carried memories with them. This one would be no different… a memory of a stormy day where he learned he’d made a terrible mistake.

“But that’s… it’s not really why I called.”

\----

“Maker, Cullen,” she sighed, “I know you love the job, but that’s... a bit much, isn’t it?” Mia laughed a little then, “you couldn’t just, you know, sprain an ankle or something. No, not you.” Another shift of the phone, and then as Cullen got quiet for a moment, so did she. Then those other words. Maker help them, there was _more_?

“So why did you call?” she asked, “if not about the broken ribs and whatever happened to your head, then... what?" 

\----

“Well,” he sighed, “I just… I needed to talk about something that’s… bothering me, I guess. You know, I’m here alone and it’s just rattling around, and I need to know if I’m thinking myself a little crazy over here.” His drew the index finger of his free hand in lazy circles over the table he was sitting at. This was well outside of his comfort zone. Injuries? He could talk about injuries. And he was glad that all he got was a laugh for them, but he could have stomached the yelling. This? Matters of the heart? This was far harder. Still, he needed to let some of this out. There was no way he could sit on it in worry for however long this trip was going to last.

“So, first things first. I, ah… I met someone. You know, _important_. Like that.”

\----

“You... really?” she asked, “Seriously?” Then a laugh and Mia clapped her hands together, “Cullen, that’s wonderful! Who is it? Where did you meet... her? Him? Them? In that little town? I didn’t think there was anyone that was even _single_ and probably had all their own teeth! Tell me everything. And I better be the first person you told, or I’m going to be so mad at you.”

\----

“Yes. Me. Really,” he deadpanned, “I know it’s hard to imagine, but please try.” Honestly, the way she was going on. Cullen rolled his eyes, but he was sporting a little smile. “And, ah… no, I didn’t meet him in town. He’s… well, he’s not from around here. At all.” That smile grew and became warm. It really was funny how the world worked that he, a rough fisherman from outside Gwaren, would be in love with a cameraman from Tevinter… but that was the long and short of it.

“He - Dorian - he’s a new camera man for the show. Assigned to my boat, you know, just this season. We… well, we didn’t get along at first. You know how much I love the show. But eventually… things changed. And it was good, you know. I mean, we had to keep it secret for a while, or we thought we did, so no one lost their job and because we weren’t keen on having whatever was happening on the show…”

\----

“That’s... kind of the last thing I expected to hear,” she said, “but... good! Dorian, is it? That’s a fancy name.” Mia could _hear_ the smile in Cullen’s voice. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard Cullen say he’d _met someone_ , honestly. So hearing that... that was good. “So is it serious?” she asked, “you’ve known him... what? A few months? That’s pretty serious, isn’t it?” 

\----

_Pretty serious._ Well, yes. It had been. And maybe it still was. “Hopefully, it is,” Cullen replied with a heavy sigh. “We… we spent a lot of time together over the short break. He didn’t have any place to stay, so I let him stay here. And it just… it worked. It was only for a few weeks, but it worked, and it was better than anything I ever had. Even when we went back on the boat that first trip out, it was still good. We kept it under wraps, but there were notes back and forth and little moments here and there. But then… in true Cullen fashion… I screwed it up. Pretty royally.”

\----

Mia snickered a bit, “You’re disgustingly romantic, you know that?” she asked, “notes and everything. That’s really sweet.” But then... well. Cullen had said it. “But,” Mia went on, “...what happened?”

\----

“You know, when notes are all you have… notes are what you do,” Cullen answered, but he was stalling, trying to avoid admitting what he’d done… even though that was, presumably, his whole reason for calling. He tapped his fingers on the table, short nails clicking in rapid succession. Well, there was nothing for it, was there?

“So that went on for a while. When we came back for the first offload, I’d just about decided to go ahead and tell Trev, just to get it out in the open with him anyway. I was going to see what Dorian thought, but before that happened… I overheard him talking with his producers, and it sounded like he’d cooked the whole thing up just to finally get to me, you know.” Cullen paused as the memory of that morning flooded his mind. It made his cheeks burn with shame just to think about the way he’d acted and how he’d treated Dorian… and here he was recounting those events.

“They were congratulating him, and all I could think was… of course, right? Of course something like that would happen… considering what I’d done in the past, of course. So I just left. We were supposed to meet for lunch, but I didn’t go. When he texted, I just texted back I’m done. That’s it. I was just… so angry. At him, yes, but at me for falling for it. So I just… stopped. I wouldn’t talk to him. I wouldn’t look at him, at least not where he could see me. But part of me _knew_ I was being an idiot. I argued with myself the whole time. It was around then that I realized… fuck, Mia, I love him. I love him, and I knew it, but I still stayed away.”

\----

“You... love him?” Mia asked, “Cullen, really?” Everything else aside, the bad things and what he’d done, but the _love_ was the most important thing to her. “Actually, you _love_ him?”

\---

“Well, yeah,” Cullen answered with a gentle tone. “Yeah, I love him. I know we haven’t known each other for long, and maybe it’s not smart, but that doesn’t make it any less true. I just didn’t realize it until it was almost too late.” Scarred lips pursed. The tale wasn’t told, not yet. “After a week or so of that, we got into a pretty, ah, dramatic argument. There was yelling and name calling… it wasn’t pretty. But he told me that, had I stayed, I would have heard that he was being sarcastic. I would have heard him telling the producers to fuck themselves and that he didn’t need that job if they wanted to use us like that. So, basically, everything I’d have wanted to hear. Before we could talk instead of yell though, that damn wave hit, and I was out for a while. And then I was up, and Dorian was there. We talked as much as I could, and he… I think he forgave me. He told me he loved me, too… he even stayed with me at the clinic before Trev had to leave port.”

He took a shaking breath in then. He was getting to it… the thing he needed to say, the thing he wanted to get out and maybe hear Mia’s perspective on. “But I’m scared, if I’m honest. I broke our trust - I thought him capable of using me for the show. How can we bounce back from that, really? So I’m sitting here alone, working myself up and thinking that he’s out there thinking right now, realizing that he acted too fast and reacted to my being hurt. Realizing that what I did… it was too much. What if he comes back and he’s changed his mind?”

\----

As Cullen spoke, Mia was quiet and listened well enough. She heard her brother. She heard that he was worried. She heard everything. “I’m sorry, I’m just a bit stuck on the fact that you met someone and you _love_ him out of... Maker, I talked to you a month ago. Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked, then cut herself off, “okay, that... that later.”

Mia sighed, “But if he said he loves you too, and you talked, and he stayed with you... why would he change his mind?” and chuckled a bit. Capable, independent Cullen was calling her for _relationship advice_. “Maybe once he gets back, you two have to take some time and talk it out when things aren’t so busy, but if he said he _loves_ you... I mean, I can’t imagine you’d ever say that to someone who didn’t take it seriously. Or would say it and change their mind because of a fight, even if it was a big one.”

\----

Cullen's mouth pressed into a line and his brows furrowed. Those were nice words, and Trev had said something similar not too long ago… but still, Cullen was troubled. “No, I know,” he replied, “And if it had been _just_ a fight, I'd be less inclined to sit here stewing, but it was days - almost two weeks - of avoiding him. And _he_ thought the whole time it was because he'd left a letter for me that, ah, told me he loved me. I didn't even read it… I crumpled it up. So from his perspective, _he'd_ opened up like that, and Maker, look at how I treated him.” And how beautiful had that letter been? So beautiful, but he'd treated it like trash… granted _had_ he read it, he'd like to think he would have done things differently… but that didn't change what _did_ happen. Cullen licked his lips and sighed, resting his forehead in his free hand.

“It was a misunderstanding, that's all it was in the end. If I'd just been an adult and _talked_ to him… but I was just blinded, you know. It was like the perfect storm of everything I thought could go wrong… _expected_ would go wrong... and I hurt him, and just… I can't help but worry that maybe he'll figure out I'm not the good man he thinks I am, or that he can't trust that _I_ trust him. I don't know… it's probably not good that I'm alone, because that's all I can even think about.”

\----

“I think you maybe just need to wait until he’s back and talk to him, you know?” Mia asked, “if he said he cares about you, even after all that happened, then you have to trust him. I mean, did _he_ give _you_ a reason not to trust _him_?” She did worry for her brother, though. Since she’d seen him last... all this had happened, and she didn’t know enough about this Dorian or their relationship to say more than that. “It’s all well and good to talk about trust and breaking it, I know that, but when you love someone it’s not like it’s this super fragile thing. It might get bent and twisted a little here and there, but if you two actually _love_ each other it would take more than a misunderstanding to break it. Sounds like it was a _bad_ misunderstanding, but that’s still all it was, you know?”

\----

That was… an interesting way to look at it, and suddenly, Cullen wondered if all this worrying about what Dorian was or wasn’t thinking was just more of him waiting for something to go wrong. Still. And wondering that… he had to admit that Mia had a point - he really did just need to trust that what Dorian said was what Dorian meant. To do anything else was just driving him a little insane. But, oh, that was _hard_. So hard to just let go and believe that someone could really and truly love the ex-templar with the stained past. 

Still, that time during the break and even the moments they had on the boat… maybe he’d somehow found just that. Someone who loved him, flaws and all. It was a sobering thought, and he leaned back in his chair, processing it as best he could.

“I… maybe you’re right,” he finally admitted and rubbed his free hand over his eyes. He was going to need a refresh on those meds soon, but this conversation was far more important. “I thought I’d let go before, but I guess I hadn’t. It’s just… it’s so _hard_ , you know? After everything, it’s hard… but I do, I love him. And it’s bigger than I thought it could be, if that makes any sense. More than I thought I could hold. And I miss him more than makes sense for how long we’ve known each other... But I still feel… awful for what I did. I don’t know how long that’ll be the case, but I think when he gets back, we can talk. We can talk, and it’ll get better. I hope.”

\----

Mia chuckled, “That’s what happens when you love someone. It gets to be this big thing, and it’s... it’s _wonderful_ , you know? And I hope that if you feel that way and he feels that way, it ends up being that big, wonderful thing.” Another quick shush to one of the kids, and Mia sighed before she started speaking again, “I’m happy you found someone, though. You’ve been by yourself for so long... you _should_ be happy. I want you to be happy. And I want to _meet_ him. When can I meet him?”

\----

It was Cullen’s turn to chuckle. “Of course you do,” he sighed and leaned forward again, resting on his arm to try and take the pressure off his ribs. “I’m not sure when, though. I’m not trying to bombard him with the clan, you know, and he’s got some things to sort through after the season. Right now, he’s planning a move to Ferelden from Tevinter… did I mention that he’s Tevinter? But yeah… assuming everything is still, you know, _ok_ … it might take a while before he’s settled enough.

He knew she’d be frothing at the bit, so to speak, until she got to meet him. That was unfortunate for her, but what else was there? Dorian needed a place to live before anything else.

An idea struck Cullen just then and he grinned. “Hold on a sec,” he said and pulled the phone away from his ear. A few taps later, and he came back. “Sent you a picture of him that he insisted I have. Good enough for now?”

\-----

A moment later, and Mia started laughing, “Oh, look at him! Cullen, he’s so _handsome_!” And he was, though... “and that _mustache!_ Does he think he’s on a pirate show?” They would be perfectly ridiculous together with Cullen’s curls and this Dorian’s facial hair. “I wouldn’t have thought someone with facial hair and eyeliner like that would be your type, though. I was thinking... you know, flannel shirts and ripped jeans.”

\----

“What, you think I’d be dating myself?” Cullen laughed right along with her, wincing a bit for how it made the pain in his ribs flare up. “But he is, isn’t he? Handsome. Very. And funny, and kind, and _smart_ , and stubborn as anything, but so sweet and caring in his way - but he’ll argue that one - and just… all that bad stuff aside, I kind of think maybe I’ve been alone all this time because I was waiting for him.”

He was silent for a beat as he realized what he’d just said, and while it felt true, it was also terribly, terribly sappy.

“I can’t believe I just said that. You’re never going to let me live this down.” 

\----

“Oh... Cullen, you’ve got it _bad_ , don’t you?” she asked, “and no, you’re not living that down. But it’s sweet. I mean, I would love it if Michael said that about me.” And it was sweet. Her sensible, capable brother was being _sappy,_ and Mia loved it. “I have to meet him, though, once you two have settled a bit. It would be nice to meet this guy who makes _you_ go all... sappy like this. I don’t think you ever got like that about a crush in your life.”

\----

Try as he might, Cullen couldn’t be annoyed with his sister’s assessment of his demeanor. He _was_ being a sap, but that’s what even the thought of Dorian did to him. When he wasn’t obsessing over _what if_ s and wrestling with the lingering guilt for his actions, thinking of Dorian made him melt a little every time… and right now was no different. Mia’s words warmed him through, and he smiled the way he smiled when he was with Dorian - warm and full of unguarded affection. Love.

“That, little sister, would be because those were crushes. This… Maker, this is _real_.”

He wasn’t sure if anything was resolved, but Mia had given him a new way to look at things. And, while he still felt unsettled and restless, he did feel better. The swell of thoughts that had threatened to overtake him had calmed quite a bit, and while he’d miss Dorian right up until The Herald pulled safely into port, he thought that maybe he could at least stand it now.

“You know, Mia… this helped. It helped to talk about it. Thank you for listening - sorry that I interrupted dinosaur movie night, though.”

\----

“No, I’m glad you called,” she told him, “I’m happy for you! I’m happy you found someone that makes you...you know, happy. And he’s _cute_!” Mia started laughing again and sighed after a moment, “but take care of you, though. Broken ribs are no joke. Call me if you need anything? We can come up if you need someone around for a while.”

She was quiet for a moment, then shifted the phone a little, “I can bring that dinosaur movie and I think they can leave it at Uncle Cullen’s for a while. Special treat and all that.”

\----

“You know… if you could keep the kids from treating me like a human jungle gym… it would be nice to see you guys. Up to you though. I know you probably want some family time now that Michael’s home for a while.” Cullen was smiling again and felt more like himself than he had since all that mess started. Leave it to Mia. “But I’ll let you get back to it. Don’t worry about me - I feel better, really. Thanks.”

After farewells and promises to talk again soon, Cullen ended the call and sat back again in his chair. That had been good - just what he needed. He was learning, slowly it seemed, that talking - _really talking_ \- was far better for the soul than suffering alone in stoic silence. Calloused fingers tapped a few things on his phone, and his face lit with a smile as he pulled up that picture of Dorian.

_I love you. Be safe._


	30. Give, For Wild Confusion, Peace [3 of 4]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Dorian are reunited, but not for as long as either man really wants.

They were a week in. A week in with shitty weather but good numbers. It was completely exhausting. Dorian felt like he was dying a little bit: he’d never been so cold or sore in his life. It took every ounce of strength to stand up straight and not shiver so hard the camera shook. The boat rocked hard, rolled up and down until Dorian was sick over the side again and again. Ugh, it was terrible.

And he missed Cullen. He’d taken advantage of those chocolates, had shared _some_ of them, but kept most of them for himself. Those were nice, as was sleeping in Cullen’s bed. No one had really complained about it either, since... well, Dorian had about as much right to be there. Not that he’d done a lot of sleeping.

Maker, he missed Cullen.

For the moment, he was sitting in the galley during a bit of downtime. Everyone was tired and irritable, but... happy that the numbers were good, so it wasn’t like they were snapping at one another. Much. He was feeling a bit sorry for himself, actually. Dorian was tired and sore and sick, and just... ugh.

“Maker help me,” Dorian muttered as he folded his arms on the table and rested his head on his arms.

\----

Alistair made his way into the galley after taking advantage of the break to have a quick shower and change into something actually clean… but despite all that, his face was uncharacteristically glum. Now that he was getting more comfortable with the job, the long hours and cold days were getting to him… not to mention the lonely nights. Well, lonely _bed_ , anyway. Samson shared a room with him, but Samson wasn’t a particularly cheerful roommate.

“I don’t think He actually has jurisdiction out here,” Alistair grumped as he plopped down onto the bench across from Dorian, resting his chin in his hands. “So I guess all you have is me. Feeling sick again?”

\----

Dorian nodded as best he could with his head down like that, then moved to rest his chin on his arms, “Sick and tired and sore and _cold_ ,” he complained. Cullen’s bed was warmer and nicer, but it didn’t hold a candle to what it was like when the man himself was in it with him. He _missed_ him so. He missed how he smiled and laughed and the way his eyes crinkled.

“How are you holding up?” Dorian asked, and looked over Alistair, “looks like you managed to wash your hair, finally.”

\----

“Oh, you know, had to tamp down the eau de cod a bit,” he answered with a dry tone and a tight smile. “But it’s _great_ , you know. Busting ice… busting _ass_ … and what do I get to come home to? An empty bed and Samson snoring in the next bunk… or making some smartass remark and _then_ snoring. So… perfect.” He sighed heavily and rubbed at his eyes before resettling his chin back in his hands. “Maker, I can’t wait to go home.”

\----

He snorted for that. Varric’s snoring was much of the reason why Dorian stayed in Cullen’s room now. It was quieter, more comfortable, and that was... better. “Yeah, same here,” Dorian sighed, “or, you know... something like home. I don’t really _have_ one right now, but you know how it is. Something a bit better than old boots and fish guts.”

\----

Alistair’s eyebrows quirked up a bit for that. “What could be better than old boots and fish guts?” he snorted. “No, I know what you mean… but no home? Really? I’m sorry to hear that, man. Where will you go?”

\----

Dorian cut a glance over Alistair’s shoulder. He wasn’t wearing his mic. This... it was safe. Safe _r_ , anyway. “Um,” he began, then cleared his throat, “I’m planning on getting a place in Denerim after a while, but... I guess, I mean, for now I’ll probably stay with Cullen. Until I can get my stuff from my friend’s in the Imperium, but that’ll happen before too long.”

\----

“So… it's pretty obvious he _was_ the guy who texted you then… after you told him you loved him...” Alistair said carefully. "And you still… with him? I mean, I know we've sort of joked about it, being surprised at the two of you together, but seriously. Him?” He leaned back and waved his hands in front of him, “That’s… incredibly nosy. I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer. Forget I asked.”

\----

“No, it’s... I mean, it would be kind of nice to actually _talk_ to someone about it,” Dorian chuckled before he sat up a bit, “after everything.” He sighed, studied Alistair’s face, then licked his lips, “we’re _something_ right now. Together. We decided to be together over the break. I stayed with him the couple of weeks we had off because I didn’t really have anywhere to go, and it was... really nice. Really, really nice.”

\----

“Well, ok. I can suspend my disbelief enough to buy that he can be nice... maybe,” Alistair responded, “I mean, he has his moments… but all that was before, right? I’m sorry - I’m just trying to wrap my head around Cullen… the deck boss… being _with_ someone. And then knowing how he treated you. Must have been one epic apology.”

\----

“There was a... misunderstanding,” Dorian replied, “kind of on both our parts. He hadn’t read the letter, actually, and that whole thing with the text was about something else. He read the letter later, after... um... after the wave hit, and he apologized to me.” He smiled then, and let his gaze lower back down to the table, “He’s a good man, for all that he’s kind of an arsehole sometimes, and he’s... so strong.”

Dorian lifted his gaze to meet Alistair’s, and he took a breath, “He’s been through some... pretty serious shit. _Really_ serious shit, and he does mean it when he says he wants to keep everyone safe. Maybe yelling and getting on your case isn’t the best way to get that across, but he does try.” It wasn’t Dorian’s place to tell anyone about Cullen’s past, so he wouldn’t go into detail. Still, he had to defend him a little bit.

“I love him,” he went on, “the... gruff, mean, goofy bastard that he is. I love him.”

\----

“Well, that's what's important then. But for the record, I think he was being a _supreme_ idiot… though, ah… well, I'm pretty sure Jaime would say the same about me sometimes, so…” Alistair flashed Dorian a sheepish grin, “Maker, I miss that woman. That's the roughest part of this whole thing, I think.”

\----

“I can’t imagine what it’s like to have to be away from someone you love for so long,” Dorian agreed with a nod. A couple of weeks was bad enough, but months on end would be enough to drive him insane. That, and... well, the whole love thing was new to him. Having to do this with Cullen on the boat and Dorian not being able to be there would be miserable. “Are you going to stick with it?” he asked, “I mean... next year? Do you think you’ll come back?”

\----

“Yeah… probably. Assuming Trev wants me back,” Alistair answered with a shrug, “The money's good and I'm not great with your normal 9 - 5 sort of thing. I do wish they'd all stop calling me _‘kid’_ though.” With a snort, he shook his head and ran a hand through damp hair. “What about you? Had enough of all this for one lifetime, or are you planning on punishing yourself more?”

\----

Dorian shrugged, “I suppose it depends on what happens with the producers,” and rested his chin back on his arms, “half the reason we sort of tried to keep it secret was from the show. They found out anyway and tried to get me to... you know, _date_ him for a storyline. I declined, and there was some talk about professional relationships and all that. So I might be out of here after this season. Or not. Who knows, right?”

\----

“Oh, man, I didn't even think of it like that. I guess I could see where they might have a problem,” Alistair answered, frowning before he grinned back. “But even if you can't come back… at least you got something good out of it… right? I mean… you know…” He shook his head and laughed nervously, “I'm sorry, I'm still… _Cullen?_ … just… we spent whole conversations complaining about the guy the first trip out… I believe you called him insufferable _many, many_ times… what changed?”

\----

“Oh, he’s still insufferable. I told him as much before we took him to the clinic,” Dorian chuckled, “but... honestly, there’s something about him. I can’t explain it. It’s like...and this is going to sound ridiculous, so if _anyone_ hears about it I’m throwing you over the side myself, but...it feels like I was waiting for him.” he buried his face in his hands and laughed at himself, “it’s stupid and I know it, but that’s what it feels like. It’s this super intense kind of thing where we were at each other’s throats and then we actually _talked_ and it was like there was something in me that _clicked_ and suddenly everything was right.”

\----

Alistair blinked a few times before he wrinkled his nose. “Well, that's just gross,” he teased. “Absolutely disgusting… but I know what you mean. And your secret’s safe with me… and if you forgive him for being a jerk, then who am I to hold a grudge?”

\----

Dorian smiled, “You’re a good guy, you know?” and sighed a bit, “maybe once all of this is over and I get settled with a place... you live near Denerim, don’t you? We should see about getting together before too long. Just because it would be nice without the rocking of the boat. That, and I can only imagine the look I’d get from Cullen if i said we were hanging out.”

\----

“Yeah, I'm up that way… and so’s Trev. That's where I met him and got the job, actually... But yeah, when you get settled, that'd be cool. Fun, even.” He snickered then before adding, “I bet Cullen would just love having dinner or drinks out if he visits. He seems like such a _social_ guy.” The sarcasm, of course, was dripping from his tone, and he gave Dorian a smirk for good measure. “I honestly can't imagine the man off boat. Does he loosen up, like, _at all_? I guess he must, but… ”

\----

“He does,” Dorian answered, “he laughs a lot. _We_ laugh a lot.” It was something that had surprised him too, but in a good way. Cullen was so _goofy_ when he was off the boat, and Dorian loved him for it. “And there’s usually a lot of bad movies and tv to laugh at, which is nice,” he went on, “and the driving a little like a madman in the car he restored. That was an interesting day.” And _oh_ how it had been, and not just because of the car.

\----

“He laughs and has hobbies, too? I’m amazed,” Alistair chuckled, then let his face slide into something more serious. “No, but I’m teasing you. I’m happy for you, really. As much as he gets on my case… and as much as I _still_ have a hard time making my brain put the two of you together-together… I _did_ see the way he looked at you. Whatever happened, for whatever it’s worth… those looks were real, you know. You’re a good guy. You deserve something real.”

\----

That much was true. Dorian _did_ deserve something real. He deserved something real and good, and now he _had_ it. He had Cullen, and he couldn’t have been happier. “Well, if only you knew,” he chuckled before he cast a glance around, “so... that night he and I fought last season? When he followed me into his room?” Now Dorian was blushing a bit, “that, uh... that was when he kissed me the first time. And ever since then... and _Maker_ , I uh... you probably don’t want to know, but I’d never been kissed like that. That was kind of when we knew, and there was no way I could ignore it after that. _That_ was probably the most real thing that ever happened to me. I don’t know that I was ever more _aware_ than I was right then, you know?”

\----

“I _knew_ it!” Alistair exclaimed victoriously and slammed a fist on the table - harder than he meant to, because it made even him jump a bit, and he laughed. “I mean, not that there was a… a _kiss_ … but I _knew_ there was more to that than _‘we talked and then cleared some stuff up’._ Samson was convinced one of you had taken a swing at the other, but I knew that was bullshit by the way you two came out and…” He stopped then and shook his head, his face wearing a knowing smile. “They say there’s a thin line, you know. Seems like Cullen crossed right over it… in a good direction. But you know… I do know that feeling. When Jaime and I, you know, the first time… it was the same. But with far less facial hair, I’m happy to report.”

\----

“When I meet her, I’m telling her you said that,” Dorian laughed as he shook his head and closed his eyes. He missed Cullen. He missed those kisses and that closeness. He missed the way Cullen looked at him, and the way he was so terribly gruff on the boat with his glaring. Okay, that might have been a bit of rose colored glasses talking, but still. He missed him. He missed him and worried for him so much.

He sighed then, and looked back down on the table, “I miss him,” Dorian complained softly, “here’s hoping we get back in the next couple of days.”

\----

Days passed. Cullen knew that time was moving along as it normally did. Seconds turned to minutes turned to hours turned to days, just like they always had and always would, but Maker, it didn’t _feel_ like it. For Cullen, everything had slowed down, painfully so, and it didn’t help the deep sort of aching he felt in his heart one bit. Talking to Mia had helped - actually seeing her, Michael and the kids when they came to visit one day helped even more - but when he was alone… well, time dragged along, and he had a lot of time to _think_.

Mostly, those thoughts were about Dorian. From sun up to sun down, every little thing reminded him of the man… which was bittersweet. It was hard to parse through those emotions. Lingering guilt and doubt mixed with memories of them being so happy in that house, which mixed again with how much Cullen missed the man, which mixed again with a jerky sort of anxiety over Dorian’s safety and how things would be when he came back. But the strongest voice amongst that sometimes confusing racket of emotion was, by far, love.

Still, it wouldn’t do to mope about the house all day. It would have been easy to fall into, but that just wasn’t the way Cullen worked. Not any more, anyway, so he set about doing the things he could. He went to town to have the stitches in his forehead removed - _‘that healed nicely, but you’re gonna have a scar, right there at your hairline… the way your hair flops down, no one will ever know’_. He did some light shopping. He did as much around the house as he could.

But still, his thoughts always circled back around to Dorian. _I love him. I miss him. This place is so empty now. I hope he’s safe. I hope he still feels the same when he comes back._

And so he found himself a week or so after The Herald pulled out of Gwaren minus one deck boss, on a day when nothing he did was really helping, pulling on his heavy coat, the one Dorian had had the presence of mind to grab from the boat. The intent was to head out to the forest. He was under no delusion that he could actually make it to his place… but maybe he could get to the bridge. The bridge might be close enough, quiet enough for him to find a little bit of peace.

The drive was short. Silent. His ribs still hurt him when he shifted, but he’d grown accustomed to it now. He bore that pain, at least, fairly well. Until he started the slow, labored walk to the bridge - by the time he made it, he was sweating a bit for the way his chest stabbed with each breath, but he _did_ make it. There was, at least, that much. And even that pain melted away when his amber eyes settled on the bridge itself. He leaned against the same tree he’d been under the day he brought Dorian here, and the memory of the man working - so _focused,_ so _intent_ \- made him smile warmly. Yes, this was a good idea.

As Cullen stood there and worked to clear his mind, he stuffed his hands into his pockets. The day was cold, and he’d been out in it for a while now - his heart was warmed by the place, but his hands were _freezing_. But then… his brows drew together as the fingers of one hand brushed against something that shouldn’t be there… if memory served, anyway.

Paper. It was a piece of notebook paper, neatly folded and entirely unexpected. Cullen’s face shifted into an expression of curiosity as he unfolded that paper. His breath caught as he saw that familiar handwriting… and what it _said_.

_Cullen,_

_I’m yours. **Always.**_

_~Dorian_

Cullen could hear Dorian’s voice in his head, saying those words. He knew how that soft Tevene accent would curl around the words, how that murmured voice would lilt and dip with every syllable. He heard it in his head, but he felt it in his heart. And it was like Dorian somehow knew what Cullen would need to help him through these long days.

And it wasn’t the forest or the solitude. It was Dorian. It was faith in Dorian’s love for him. It was faith in _his_ love for Dorian. That note… that short note that said little but still said it all… that was what Cullen needed.

So, still smiling and amazed that, yes, he could hold more love in his heart, Cullen turned and made his way back to his truck, back home. He was still unsettled. He still missed Dorian fiercely. He still worried for his safety… but that doubt he’d felt, even after talking to Mia, that was gone. There’d likely still be talking, and there was definitely still a bit of shame at how he’d acted, but Cullen… he wasn’t worried anymore that they couldn’t work through it. They could. They would.

Because Cullen knew - _really knew -_ that he was Dorian’s and Dorian was his… and in the end, that’s really all that mattered.

\----

It was late. It was late and the weather had been shitty, but they pushed through and had been steaming back to town after a really,  _really_ good last trip. The tanks were stuffed to bursting, which would put them dead on quota with some extra to cover and dead loss they might have, and Trev couldn’t have been happier. He was tired, of course, but it was hard to be that tired when he knew it had been a great season. A record one for them, actually. That was good. Whatever luck had come to them this year needed to stick around, and Trev kind of wanted to bottle it so he could keep it just in case.

They were about three hours from town when he picked up the satellite phone. It was really late, just past four in the morning, but he needed to make this call. No one had asked him to, but Trev knew it would be appreciated. After all, he was a friend _first_ and captain _second._ For now, anyway.

He quickly dialed Cullen’s number and pressed the phone to his ear as he rested on hand on the accelerator lever and waited for the man to pick up.

\----

No sooner had Cullen’s eyes slid closed for the night, than his phone started ringing. Or rather, that’s what it _felt_ like. His phone was going off, demanding attention - both the ringtone and the vibration against the nightstand together made an unholy racket, and Cullen was ripped from sleep violently. He acted without thinking to silence the awful thing that had woken him, but pain bloomed in his chest from such a careless movement, and he hissed through his teeth as he eased back onto the pillow.

“Fuck,” he murmured. It had been almost two weeks, and things were better… but they were still a long way from healed.

Still, all discomfort was immediately forgotten when he saw _who_ was calling.

“Trev,” he greeted, voice still rough from sleep, “Please tell me you’re calling because the season’s done and not because something happened.”

\----

Trev chuckled, “We’re about three hours from town,” he said, “I figured you might want to know, even though it’s late.” At least Cullen sounded more like himself. “Everything’s good: great numbers, no bad injuries, everyone’s safe.”

\----

“No, no. I _do_ appreciate it. Really, thanks for calling,” Cullen answered as he simultaneously sent up a silent thanks to the Maker. That was another worry that melted away, leaving him with a sudden and overwhelming sense of  happy anticipation that all but guaranteed he'd get no more sleep that night. “So, then… _everyone's_ ok? I mean… he's not awake, is he? Just for maybe a quick word?”

\----

“He was in bed when I got up here,” Trev answered, “and the weather’s been so shit I don’t really want to duck out. Can you live another three hours?” He was chuckling now. “I promise you two can have a few minutes alone.”

\----

“Yeah, ok. No sense in waking him, anyway. I’m sure he needs his rest,” Cullen replied with _just_ the hint of disappointment in his tone. But he could wait. He could wait until it was more than a few words over a phone. In three or so hours… Dorian would be there.

Oh, Maker, Dorian would be _there._ Cullen’s heart began pounding in his chest as he realized he was… nervous. Or maybe nervous wasn’t the right way to put it, but he was definitely full some sort of jangly, jerky energy that made his hands shake just a little bit and his body leave sleep far, far behind.

“Hey, I’m glad it was a good trip out. I’ll meet you at the dock and help where I can. Those guys deserve a break after being a man down. Do you think… do you think it was enough? To keep us going next year?” His words were a bit quicker than usual, higher than normal, for the nerves running through him. Cullen had put that fear of _what if_ behind him when he saw Dorian’s note… but still. He was happy and excited and a little scared… and he just wanted three hours to be behind him so he could finally talk to the man who’d taken up so much space in his heart and mind.

\----

“I think we’re going to be fine,” Trev answered, “we got what we needed in record fucking time, so there’s no way anyone can be mad about it. I think we might be one of the first ones done this year and how many times has _that_ happened, you know?” He was quiet for a moment as he considered that, then chuckled, “Who knows, maybe you and this thing with Dorian gave us some luck this year, you think?”

\----

Cullen rolled his eyes and snorted at that comment. “Says the guy who _doesn’t_ have two broken ribs and a shiny new scar on his forehead,” he replied in a dry tone. “But still,” he added in a warmer tone, “I think I’m the lucky one there. No offense, but The Herald can find its own luck… I’m not looking to repeat all those dramatics. I’d rather a great big _‘and they lived happily ever after’_ and sailing off into the sunset at this point. Or well, you know what I mean.”

\----

Well, that was a bit of a surprise. Trev had known Cullen for a while, but he’d never known him to say anything like _that_ before. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Trev told him, “anyway. Three hours. I’ll see you when we get in. Try not to be too excited because you missed us so much.”

\----

“Oh, I’m practically floating,” Cullen answered, “See you in a few, man.”

And, while he _was_ happy to hear that the boat would likely be out of trouble for next year and that the guys were coming home safe and sound… that floating feeling was hardly for them. Every bit of that giddy energy was for the man with the grey eyes and warm skin and caring heart that was likely asleep below decks as The Herald brought him closer to port. Closer to Cullen.

He tried to roll over and go back to sleep for a few hours, he really did. His mind, however, had other plans. It was fully awake and electrified, running through scenarios and _what should I say?_ Would Dorian be out on deck as The Herald pulled up? Should Cullen immediately pull him into the embrace he so thoroughly wanted? Or should he take it easy, slower, in case things needed to be worked through before they got to that point? Should he try to be witty with a _‘hey, stranger… long time no see’_ or _‘what’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?’_

“Shit,” he muttered after a half hour of that, and finally gave sleep up as a lost cause. Coffee and TV it was, then. Not that it would completely slow his mind down, but it might help. Maybe.

\----

He’d meant to stay awake. Mostly. More like he’d meant to set an alarm and wake up a bit before they pulled into town. He should have been up to film that, but... Varric was more or less on it. After being out in all the bad weather, he’d actually volunteered to be the one to get up and get some of the last shots so long as Dorian handled the count footage. He could handle that. It gave him the chance to sleep a little longer and a little better, despite the fact that he was... well, happy was maybe being a bit too generous, but ready to be back. Ready to be off the boat. Ready to do something that wasn’t being trapped on this rocking nightmare with wind and ice and snow.

Dorian had actually woken with his alarm about an hour before they pulled into town, but like a bit of a fool he’d turned the alarm off instead of just hitting snooze. Bed was too comfortable for his aching bones and muscles and head, and he just... dropped back off. He’d tried, of course. He’d tried to stay awake long enough to come back into phone range so he could check his messages, but he’d gotten comfortable and somehow managed to pass back out.

He was enjoying being wrapped up in the blankets that smelled like Cullen far too much to want to get up anyway. Soon, they’d be back and he’d get to see him again and Dorian was excited for _that_. He wanted a kiss and he wanted those strong arms around him. Fuck the cameras and everything else. After what they’d been through, he deserved it.

And he didn’t even hear the horn when they pulled into Gwaren, either.

\----

If time had felt slower before, it was fucking _crawling_ now. That three hours stretched out, and Cullen was convinced - rather dramatically, and not at all like him - that it was the longest three hours of his entire life. After coffee, showering, and getting dressed, he still had an hour and a half to kill before he could even think about getting into his truck. TV only did so much. Knitting was a non-starter. There wasn’t anything he could do on his car. It was just a whole lot of waiting. He didn’t do waiting so well, so in his truck he went… a whole hour earlier than he should.

The plan had been breakfast before the ship got there, but he found he could barely eat anything when he made it into the little diner where he and Dorian had had their first meal together all those months ago. He stared into his plate, sorrowful for the bacon that would go to waste, but his stomach wouldn’t stand for it. Toast and more coffee it was then, before he paid his bill and walked down to the docks to… sit. Just sit on one of the pylons that lined the dock and flip through his phone. Through pictures, through old texts, anything to occupy his mind and make time pass.

Which it did. Of course it did, and Cullen’s heart jumped when he heard the all-too-familiar horn of The Herald as it came into port. _Finally_ , he thought with a grin and watched as Trev steered her into harbor. He waved when the boat was close enough for him to make out Trev’s grinning face up in the wheelhouse, and rose from his seat to watch as the boat came to a stop. The crew was already out there, getting ready to tie the boat off and get the final offload of the year underway, and Cullen’s eyes scanned for that familiar mop of fluffy black hair… but to no avail. So there was one scenario he’d played out that wasn’t going to happen… the emotional reunion on deck. Maybe he was getting coffee.

“Hey, you slacker,” Blackwall teased as he set the short gangplank so Cullen could come on board. “Enjoy your vacation?”

“Hardly,” Cullen answered absently as he stepped onto the deck, eyes still searching.

For his part, Blackwall just laughed and waved him on. “He’s still below. I think he might be asleep still.”

“Great, thanks,” Cullen answered. He greeted the rest of the crew pleasantly enough as he made his way across the deck and downstairs, but he barely registered what they were saying. He was focused on one thing - getting to Dorian’s bunk at the end of the hall.

But his bunk was empty. It was made and didn’t look like it had been slept in at all. _Of course,_ he thought with a grin, _like he’s going to sleep in this when there’s a more comfortable option._

So, back down the hall to the his own room he went. He paused for a moment at the door, hesitating as he wondered whether he should knock or not… but well, it was his room, after all, so he decided to chance it and opened the door slowly.

And there he was. Dorian. Curled up asleep, buried under Cullen’s blankets and _Maker_ it was such a sweet sight. For a long moment, after he quietly closed the door behind him, all Cullen could do was stand and take it in, amber eyes soaking up everything about that peaceful, sleeping face while all those nerves that had driven him stir crazy just melted away. Dorian sported just a little more scruff than Cullen remembered, and his hair was mussed in the most delightfully adorable way, and Cullen’s knees grew weak as he remembered that note - _I’m yours. Always._

_What are you waiting for?_

What indeed? He padded the few steps across the room to the bed, gently sat down next to Dorian’s sleeping frame and slowly leaned over, ignoring the pain from his ribs for the moment, to press a gentle kiss to Dorian’s temple.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty,” he murmured into the other man’s ear, “You’re home.”

\----

He stirred, and Dorian whined just a little. For a moment, he wasn’t quite sure _where_ he was but he had a feeling ‘home’ wasn’t it. One hand lifted to rub at his still slightly bruised face, and he sighed a bit before one eye opened. “Cullen?” he mumbled, voice thick from sleep.

Were they at Cullen’s? Maker, he remembered the bed being more comfortable than this. He grumbled again, took one of Cullen’s hands in his own, and tugged a bit, “it’s early. Why are you up already?”

\----

“Oh, I’ve been up for a while,” Cullen chuckled softly, voice still low, before brushing his lips against the soft hair at Dorian’s temple again. “Ever since Trev called and said you were coming in this morning.” Those hands around his were warm and soft and wonderful after going so long without this sort of closeness, and his body just wanted more of it. “But… scooch if you’re not ready to get up. I’m not sure I can wait any longer for a hug.”

\----

That took another moment, and Dorian’s sleepy mind tried to put together what he was hearing. Trev called. Coming in. _The boat_. They were on the boat. They were home. He’d slept through getting in. “Shit,” Dorian breathed with a soft chuckle as he sat up a little bit. Everything was still sore and tired, so it was a challenge, but he managed to get himself mostly vertical so he could wind his arms around Cullen’s neck. “You’re a sight for sore fucking eyes,” he said into Cullen’s shoulder, “and you’re _here_.”

\----

“I am,” Cullen murmured, smiling as his arms wrapped around Dorian just as tightly as they could, “I was waiting for you.” This was it, this was what he needed… just Dorian, warm and breathing and _there_ in his arms. Everything else could wait. Right now, this was absolutely  the most important thing in the world. “I missed you - so damn much,” he breathed and pressed kissed into soft, dark hair. Whatever came next… this was perfect. It didn’t follow any of the scenarios Cullen had played out in his head all morning, but it was perfect.

\---

He hugged Cullen as tightly as he dared, if only because he was still painfully aware of Cullen’s ribs, and Dorian just buried his face in the other man’s neck. Cullen smelled like the soap he’d come to know at his house, of shampoo and somehow still like salt and wind, and it’s everything he wanted. To be woken up like this on his last day on the boat was about as good as anything he could imagine, really. He hadn’t even entertained the thought that it might happen lest he get too excited and be disappointed. Nothing was better than this.

“Maker, I missed you too,” Dorian replied before he lifted his head and kissed Cullen full on the mouth. He hadn’t brushed his teeth yet, obviously, but he didn’t care. He needed this. One hand lifted to tangle in those blond curls, and Dorian trailed his fingers through them before they came to rest at Cullen’s cheek. When the kiss broke, because they had to breathe eventually, he chuckled and just rested his forehead against Cullen’s. Yes, this was perfect.

Dorian sighed happily then, and pressed another, softer kind of kiss to Cullen’s lips, “I love you,” he murmured, “I wanted that to be the first thing I said. I love you and I _missed_ you.”

\----

Oh, how those kisses worked their way through Cullen. He felt them all the way out to his toes and the tips of his fingers; he felt them in his heart as it somehow grew lighter and larger at the same time. Cullen’s hands moved up and down Dorian’s back. The way he was sitting, the angle wasn’t great, but Maker, he wanted to touch as much, feel as much as he could, so he tried, hands roving in lines and circles as fingers pressed in against the soft fabric of Dorian’s shirt and the muscle beneath.

And then another kiss, achingly gentle and coupled with words that made Cullen go weak. “I love you, too,” he answered before snaking a hand around and up Dorian’s chest to rest at his neck, stroking his thumb over the scruff at his jaw. “And I got your note and it was… just what I needed when I needed it.” He tilted his head and pressed another gentle kiss, full of sweetness and tender care, to Dorian’s lips. “I’m yours, too. Always. That’s your reply.”

\----

What a way to wake up, right? This was like every bad romance novel that he’d nicked from Aquinea’s library when he was a teenager, and Dorian loved it. Loved _Cullen_. Maybe one day, he’d get a painting done of them locked in an embrace like it was the title of some bawdy book. Wouldn’t _that_ be an interesting present? Still, he loved it. He loved everything about this.

“That’s exactly what _I_ needed to hear this morning,” he chuckled before he kissed Cullen one more time and just let Cullen hold him for a long moment. Dorian needed to get up. He needed to get the last of this done for the season. He needed to go to work, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. “I didn’t think I’d see you until later,” Dorian went on as his hands moved across Cullen’s shoulder and through the scruff on his face, “how are you feeling? Any better? You look better than the last time I saw you.”

\----

Cullen laughed softly and leaned back a little so he could push his hair back from his forehead. “Well, I’ll be carrying this around with me for a while,” he answered when he’d uncovered the thin, red line that stuck down from his hairline, “and the ribs still get to me when I’m not careful, but I’m no worse for the wear.” He let his hair flop back down over his forehead and reached that hand back over to Dorian’s jaw, letting his fingers trail up to the edges of where he’d been bruised in the wave. It had faded considerably, but the ghost of it was still there... not to mention the cut that bisected Dorian's eyebrow. That was surely going to heal into a scar - a memento of the sea. “And you? Is this better? Has it been joined by any other bumps and bruises?”

\----

“Nothing too bad,” Dorian answered, though he was frowning for that scar at Cullen’s hairline. He already had so many, and Dorian worried about there being any more added. The last thing he ever wanted was for Cullen to have scars because of _him,_ and now he had that one because Cullen had protected _him_. “Sore legs and back,” he went on, “but nothing that’ll stick around.”

He sighed then, and leaned in to kiss Cullen again, “Stay with me while I get dressed?”

\----

Cullen made a mental note to return the many favors Dorian had bestowed upon him and find time soon to give the man a backrub. Maybe tonight. Wouldn’t that be perfect? In his head, Cullen saw himself drawing Dorian a bath with epsom salts to help soothe all those aches, and then, after, working his fingers into all that beautiful skin, chasing the knots away. Dorian would have to sit between his knees on the floor since Cullen very much doubted he could lean over him on the bed, but it would still be nice. He wanted to do something nice. He wanted to help Dorian however he could.

But first things first. They both had a job to finish. Still… it was hard to let go when they’d only had a few minutes.

“You act like I’m going to let you get up so soon,” he chuckled, “At least let me have another kiss, huh?”

\----

“Here,” Dorian prompted as he pulled the blankets off. He was wearing a pair of thick flannel pants to try to ward off the cold, and he moved so he was stretched out across Cullen’s lap. Both arms wound around Cullen’s neck and Dorian leaned in to kiss him deeply and languidly. He pushed his tongue past Cullen’s lips, kissed him for a long moment, and tangled his hands in Cullen’s hair as he just... kissed him. Dorian kissed him like he needed that kiss to live.

\----

And that kiss was just… so perfect. It took Cullen’s breath away, but that was ok, because at this point, he was sure he needed Dorian more than he needed air. Well, that was clearly exaggeration, but after everything - the misunderstanding, the argument, the time apart - and then this… that’s how it felt. It was salve for his soul and passion and love and everything in between, and he just needed it. More than anything, he needed Dorian.

But he also needed to go up and help, and Dorian had a job to finish. As much as Cullen would love to make up for time lost and curl up in bed with that warmth for hours… he had to move. And the sooner they got everything done, the sooner they could finally be together and work on _them_.

“Maker,” Cullen breathed when they parted, “Just… Maker. I’m supposed to go get work done now?”

\----

He smiled, “Leave it to me to distract you,” Dorian teased before he kissed Cullen again and slid to his feet. Now he needed to get dressed, much as he didn’t want to, and as he pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater he couldn’t help but smile over his shoulder at Cullen. “So what will you be doing?” he asked, “Trev’s probably going to put you on light duty?”

Now he was mostly dressed, and he turned and bent to kiss the top of Cullen’s head, “Maker help me, I missed you so. You and how handsome you are.”

\----

“Well, that’s the pot calling out the kettle… though I’m hardly _handsome_ ,” Cullen snorted a laugh through his nose as he pulled himself to his feet. “Glad you think so, though,” he finished and kissed Dorian’s cheek through a smile he assumed he’d be wearing for a good, long while. He hadn’t felt _this_ good since… well, before all that mess happened, anyway, and it was wonderful. Positively wonderful now.

“I’m not sure what he’ll want me to do, but I’m used to running the hydros and watching the count. I can do that much with these,” he answered Dorian’s question while gesturing to his ribs. “Probably won’t catch me stacking any dead loss or much in the way of moving stuff, though.” He stole another kiss, just a quick peck _because he could_ , and moved to open the door. “Shall we, then? Get this over with?”

\----

By the time they made it out to the deck, things were in full swing. Dorian had his camera on his shoulder, and he smiled over at Cullen for a moment before he headed off to get some footage of the weighing and brailers that held all the crab that came up from the tanks. He was more awake now, happy to be up and doing despite being sore, and looking forward to this finishing so he could... do whatever was next.

After Dorian wandered off, though, Barris stepped up even with Cullen and tucked his hands in his pockets, “Hey, Boss,” he commented, “you, uh... feeling any better?”

\----

Cullen let his eyes track after Dorian as the other man moved out onto deck to get to work. It felt good to be back, for several reasons. Odd, because he felt a little like an outsider after having been absent for the last leg, but still good. The sea air, the morning sun, the purpose of work needed to be done… Dorian in sight… everything was just in place and where it needed to be.

_I should go talk to Trev,_ Cullen thought, but before he could turn, Barris was at his side. “A lot better, thanks,” Cullen answered, “How’d the trip treat you?”

\----

“It was pretty okay,” Barris answered, “no bad accidents, so there’s nothing to report.” He cast a glance up at Cullen then, “Glad you’re doing better. I think we need one last chance to whip Therein into shape before he goes home and gets soft.”

“Can we maybe _not_ talk about anything being soft or not?” Samson grunted as he came up and stretched his arms over his head, “And the slacker’s back. How’s the ribs treating you, eh? Held together with tape and gum?”

\----

Ah, Samson and his “wit.” Now everything really was in place. “Pleasant as ever, I see,” Cullen groused, but he was still smiling. “It really wasn't my choice to go home. I was outvoted, you know. 3 to 1.”

“Three?” Barris asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah. The doctor, Trev, and Dorian. None of them wanted to listen to me. They were all far too concerned with my not being able to move or breathe at the time, you know.”

\----

“Not surprised,” Samson chuckled as he lit up a cigarette and looked back over at Cullen, “but... good to know you’re alright. You were looking pretty bad there for a while.” he took a long drag off his cigarette then as he looked out across the deck, then managed a smile. “That, and loverboy was beside himself,” he went on, “didn’t peg you for the makeup and suit wearing type, Rutherford.”

\----

_Loverboy? Oh, here we go._

“You and my sister both,” Cullen scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It's less the makeup and suit, and more the person under that, you know.” Still, he had to admit that, on the surface anyway, it probably did look a little… odd. If the situation were different, Cullen may have made a similar crack himself. “Though, to be fair… I bet his friends would say much the same about me… but with flannel instead of suits, I guess. Either way,” he shrugged, “Eyeliner is hardly the long and short of him. Besides, it suits him... Sets off his eyes.”

\----

Samson rolled his eyes, “Maker, a few months and you’re spouting that gobshite already,” then nudged Cullen’s shoulder a bit more gently than he might have before, “now... they’re working on the brailers and we’re getting everything secure below deck. Probably another few hours before the others show up to get their cameras down, so…”

At that, Barris waves a hand in the direction of the pots, “We’ll get those off once the brailers are out of the way. Until then, clean up and getting everything set back up,” then paused and looked up at Cullen, “Right, Boss?”

\----

A few things happened as Cullen listened Barris rattle through those instructions. That feeling of everything being in place shook a bit as he realized that this was how it had been since he'd stepped back during all that drama last trip - orders hadn't come from Cullen, they'd come from Barris. The guys looked to Barris, and while Cullen was proud of the young man for how he'd stepped up, that little pricking sensation that he wasn't necessary here was back.

But this time, the prick was less painful and brought with it another thought that was perhaps bittersweet for the implication - _they'd be just fine without me._ But it wasn't self pity, or it didn't feel like that. It was more… reassuring. More like he wasn't trapped. Not that he ever had been, not really, but before he'd let go out of necessity, he hadn't _really_ trusted anyone else to make the right calls. He was seeing now that he'd been wrong.

That was becoming a trend, it seemed, though in this case… it didn't have to be a bad thing.

“Sounds about right to me,” Cullen smiled, maybe a little wistfully for the swirl of thoughts going on in his head, and clapped Barris on the shoulder. “But _you're_ the boss, you run it till the season's over. I'm going to go check in with Trev, and when I get back… you just let me know where you need me.”

It was _hard_ to let go… but it was also freeing.

\----

The day was... long. Long and busy. Dorian couldn’t remember the last time he had so much to _do_ that wasn’t actual filming. Even when they got there before the first season began and had to prepare everything, it wasn’t this much work. Between working around the crew, the people doing the counts, and _each other_ , it was a nightmare. By the end of the day, which was about fourteen hours after they’d gotten into town, Dorian was exhausted. He’d climbed up ladders, attached and detached cameras and microphones, and it was _rough_.

Finally, _finally_ , they gave him the go ahead to wrap up the last of everything. As he was working he was told that the boat crews would stay behind in the hotel for a couple of days to finish up, which... he'd had a feeling would be the case. Dorian wasn’t looking forward to staying in that terrible hotel again, even for a night, and he was... ugh, it wasn’t going to be a fun time. He had a very real expectation of how things were going to go, and all he really wanted was to just go back to Cullen’s for a little while and recover. That was what he wanted more than anything else.

When everything had been handed off and all he had to worry about was his personal stuff, Dorian headed back down below deck to relax for a moment. He wanted to sit with the others, he wanted to curl up against Cullen for a minute, and he wanted to figure out what they were going to do. He wanted to talk to Trev and thank him for being so good to him, to the others for... well, not being _bad_ to him, and he wanted to make sure they left as something slightly better than the strangers they’d been when he’d gotten there a few months ago.

As he headed down into the galley, Dorian clapped a hand on Alistair’s shoulder and smiled, “Ready to be home? Not long now.”

\----

“I was _ready_ a week ago,” Alistair sighed as he worked on making a mug of coffee. “So, yeah. You could say that.”

“Come on, it's not all that bad,” Blackwall called from where he sat with Barris and Samson at the galley table, all of them drinking what would be their last cups of coffee on The Herald until next season. “Trev’s with the fishery folks getting our checks right now. There's your silver lining.”

“Hmmm yeah,” Alistair grinned. “There is that. But also home and bed. I'm having a hard time figuring out which I look forward to the most.”

“I'd normally say bed,” Cullen answered as he walked in from the deck above, “But I've been there for two weeks already, and I have to say its charm has worn off.” He moved slowly, hand pressing in against the pair of broken ribs on his side. All that day, he'd done what he could - working the hydros, watching the count, packing up smaller things like the bait station - but this was the longest he'd been on his feet since the accident, and it was showing. Even with frequent breaks, he was left paler than usual with a light sheen of sweat on his brow despite the freezing air. Still, he was glad to have been there, to help finish things… even if he had plans to take some of the pain meds he'd mostly ignored since the third or fourth day as soon as he got home. It was unfortunate, since they made him pretty loopy and eventually knocked him out, but he was sure Dorian would understand.

Speaking of… Cullen offered the man a smile as he made his way carefully over to where Dorian stood. This was the first time they'd both been in the same place at the same time since that morning, so he was a welcome sight to the aching deck boss. “Hey, you,” he said, a little out of breath, as he drew up into the man's space, “All wrapped up? I think Trev’s almost done, so we can get out of here soon… which… yeah, that's a good thing.”

\----

The sight of Cullen looking so pale and in pain made Dorian’s heart hurt, and he reached out a hand to rest it over the one of Cullen’s that pressed in on his chest. He wasn’t going home with Cullen, not tonight anyway, and... well ,that wasn’t a conversation to have in front of the others. “Come sit with me while I pack?” he asked with a small smile as his fingers brushed over the back of Cullen’s hand.

It would give Cullen a chance to sit down, too, and they could talk away from prying ears. Not the cameras, not now, but he didn’t want to really talk about anything moderately serious with the others around. So Dorian linked his fingers with Cullen’s and lifted that hand to kiss the back of it before he turned to wink at the others, “I’m borrowing your boss for a little bit,” he teased, and nodded toward the bunks, “he’ll be back.”

\----

“Please, take him,” Samson groaned, “Last thing I need right now is watching you two moonin’ over each other.” He shuddered for effect, but Cullen thought he could see a hint of amusement in those blue eyes. But with Samson… who really knew? Still, Cullen grinned and leaned in for a quick peck on Dorian's cheek before making his way toward the bunks amidst a chorus of gagging. It wasn't necessarily something he would he have _normally_ done, a bit too open, but the smile he got from it made it worth the blush currently creeping up on his face.

Back in his bunk, Cullen sat on the bed, just enjoying _not_ being on his feet for the moment. “I guess I need to pack up the rest of my stuff, too, but I'll be damned if I feel like moving now,” he said with a sigh and then offered a grin up to Dorian. “How long did it take for you to move in here? Samson give you any grief?”

\----

“No one really said too much, which was nice,” Dorian answered with a smile as he moved closer so he could kiss the top of Cullen’s head, “I think they assumed that I had the most reason to sleep in here, so…” he shrugged and lifted his hands to cup Cullen’s cheeks. Tired and pale as he was, Cullen was still so beautiful. He was perfection in every way, and Dorian had _missed_ him so much. “I can help you pack, if you want,” he went on, “you shouldn’t be bending over and doing all that kind of thing yet, probably. And you’ve been on your feet all day as it is.”

The hands cupping Cullen’s face moved to run through his hair and down the back of his neck to press against those sore muscles, “you rest, I’ll pack. Just relax.”

\----

As always, Dorian just seemed to know the right places to work, and those hands felt amazing on tense, knotted muscles. Cullen melted against Dorian, wrapped his arms around him and nuzzled his face in against the warm wool of his sweater. “No,” he murmured, voice muffled by thick fabric, “You've been working this whole time. I've been here for a day. _You_ should be the one relaxing.”

But he made no move to get back up. It was far too comfortable there with his arms around Dorian. Still, the sooner this was done, the sooner they could head back to a far more comfortable bed and time to just be together again… and really figure out what that was going to be like after that fight… not to mention the fact that nothing was really holding Dorian to Gwaren.

But that would come.

“I'm sure you're ready for a good night's sleep in a bed that doesn't move… and I have to admit I haven't slept well. Something’s been missing,” he said and looked up into Dorian's face with a sheepish grin, “Can't put my finger on what it is, though.”

\----

Maker help him, Cullen was entirely too sweet.

He leaned down and kissed Cullen’s forehead, “Sadly, it may need to wait a couple more days,” Dorian told him softly before he ran his fingers through those soft curls, “I’ve got to stay for some post production stuff for a little while, here. I mean... unless you feel like teaching me how to drive your truck in a night and trusting me to drive back and forth in the morning and afternoon.” It wasn’t ideal, but... it was what it was. “There’s some meetings we have to deal with, and I have a sneaking suspicion they’re going to want to talk to me about what’s happened between us and all that... as much as I’d love to go back with you.”

Of course he hated that he couldn’t go, because he really did just want to go back and curl up in Cullen’s bed. That was what he wanted most. “I’m sorry,” Dorian apologized gently before he leaned down to kiss Cullen’s lips, “but it’s only... you know, maybe two nights? Three?” This time it was Dorian’s turn to look a little sheepish, “do you hate me?”

\----

_Oh._

Well, that was a disappointment. And not just because Cullen had looked forward to sleeping comfortably with Dorian in his arms, but because he was ready to settle what had happened and really work towards something solid and real for the future. He was ready to _move_ again, forward into the future.

But… thinking about it like that, he and Dorian had plenty of time - all of it, if Cullen had his way.

“Hate you?” Cullen laughed, “No, never.” He tightened his hold on Dorian, then looked back up, face hot with the flush he could feel forming on his cheeks. “Fair warning, this is going to sound just disgustingly sappy, but… I've waited my whole life for you… I can wait three days for you to finish up here. I _love_ you.”

\----

And that warmed Dorian better than anything had ever warmed him in his whole life. Hadn’t he said something like that to Alistair a few days ago? Hadn’t he thought that same exact thing? To know that Cullen felt the same way was like a lifeline where he’d been floating for so long. He was around all those things, all the things that could save his life on a _fishing boat_ for months now, but much like when he’d put that survival suit on that horrible day at the beginning and Cullen had stopped to help show him how to make it better... Cullen was giving him that life line to find his way again.

Dorian leaned down and kissed Cullen soundly, deeply, and just hugged him close. It was all he wanted. “I love you too,” he breathed, “so much. So, so much.” He closed his eyes and took that feeling in for a long moment. “And I was waiting for you too,” he went on softly, “I didn’t even know it, but I think I was.”

\----

The days Cullen had spent obsessing, worried that Dorian would change his mind or find that he felt differently when he had more time to think… all that felt silly now. In fact, a great many things felt silly now - fighting in the beginning, trying to maintain Cullen’s line, hiding what they were when they finally acknowledged it, sneaking around and worrying, so much pointless worrying that proved unnecessary in the end. All of that, all those hoops should have shut this down before it gained any traction, but still, they’d _survived_. They’d somehow, almost impossibly, grown closer. In the span of two seasons of fishing, the two of them had gone from antagonistic at worst and unsure at best to completely, thoroughly in love. And, while Cullen tried very hard not to believe in things like fate or destiny… well, it felt an awful lot like that’s what it could be. Everything in his life had led him to this moment, after all. When he looked at it like that, Cullen found he didn’t have many arguments against it.

“Sweet talker,” he sighed happily then leaned back and raised a hand to cup Dorian’s scruffy cheek. The man was exhausted, and Cullen knew he was probably counting down the minutes until he could get a haircut and shave, but he was beautiful… the _most_ beautiful, always. “We’ll… be alright, won’t we?” Cullen asked gently, “I mean, not because you have to work a little longer, but… after that? When you leave to go get things settled, we’ll be alright. We’ll figure it out.”

\----

“Of course we will,” Dorian answered without any hesitation. He turned and pressed a kiss against Cullen’s palm and nuzzled his face into that warm hand for a long moment before he wrapped it in one of his own and squeezed, “You’ve got me now, you know. It’s going to take an act of the Maker to get me to give you up, and even then.” Dorian smiled, leaned down and kissed Cullen, then sighed, “But before all that... packing. It’s still alright for me to come stay with you until I get the flights and everything sorted out, yes?”

\----

_An act of the Maker, huh?_ Well, that sounded alright. That sounded just fine to Cullen, and the corners of his eyes crinkled for how he smiled as he returned that kiss. “I’d be mad if you didn’t, you know,” Cullen chuckled and tilted his head up to kiss the tip of Dorian’s nose. It was, after all, such a _fine_ nose. “And I hope they give you a break for dinner because you’re crazy if you think I won’t be down to see you. If those beds weren’t so small in that hotel, I’d, ah… invite myself over… as it is… I still need a ridiculous number of pillows to breathe, and I wouldn’t want to put you out. And I’m sure you don’t need me here to… distract you from your work.”

\----

He smiled, “Oh, please, distract me,” and squeezed Cullen’s hand again, “I want all the distraction you can give me.” Dorian sighed a bit then, stood there for just a moment longer, then pulled away so he could grab out one of the bags, “are you feeling okay enough to maybe get something to eat at the pub with me?”

\----

“I am, and I will,” Cullen answered, watching Dorian move to grab bags. “I’m feeling a bit better now, anyway.” And he was. The long day still had him drained and he definitely still planned on the one-two combo of pain meds then bed when he got home, but right now… he felt better than he had in a long while. “Must be the company,” he said with a wink.

\----

“Oh, who’s the smooth talker now?” Dorian asked with a laugh before he set to gathering up what he’d brought into Cullen’s room, “I’m going to get the rest of my stuff from the other room. If you start getting your stuff done then I’ll come help, hm?” He turned and cupped Cullen’s face, “I’ll be right back, okay?”

\----

So, packing. They managed to round everything up, even though Dorian’s stuff had been split between two rooms and Cullen was… slow. It took longer than it should for that fact, and for the way they seemed to find excuses to stop for little kisses here and there. But it got done, Cullen collected his check - less the two weeks he missed that season, and said his goodbyes to everyone still there. And just like that… he was done fishing for another 8 months or so. Well, he’d been done for a couple of weeks, but now it was _really_ over.

Later, over dinner and beers, Cullen couldn’t help but let his mind wander, musing over how much his life had changed in the span of four or five short months. He was in love. He had a future. The cycle of fishing and loneliness that had been the norm for so very long had been broken, utterly and completely, by the man sitting next to him. And while the speed of that change had been almost breathtakingly fast… it didn’t make it any less right.

After they’d had about all they could stand of fried food and beer and the ever-present smell of salty sea air and fish, Cullen drove Dorian to the hotel. Once the man was checked in and his bags safely stowed inside his room, Cullen pulled Dorian in close, kissed him like it was the last time, and pulled away with a sheepish grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow, ok? Text or call if you need someone to come rescue you… and sleep well, love.”


	31. Give, For Wild Confusion, Peace [4 of 4]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Wherever you go, you're carrying part of my heart with you..."

Three days. Three _whole_ days of marking film, doing post interviews with the producers, and so much packing. So much equipment checking. So much sorting. It was so intense. Seriously, getting out there had been so much easier. And even worse, all that gorgeous equipment that had been ruined by ice and water and wind was a fucking crime. So many beautiful cameras were now DOA, and Dorian mourned for them. So much money went into the budget just for that, and Maker help him, he would have taken one or seven that still half worked just so he could have them.

And then, just when he thought he’d escaped it... the finger crooking. The very cross finger crooking, and he was staring down his _actual_ boss, one of the men that had shown up on the boat, and he didn’t look happy. Stroud. The man _never_ looked all that happy from what Dorian had seen, but he was especially grim now. So he’d braced himself, clenched his hands once, and followed.

The conversation took an hour and a half.

_[Text: Cullen (4:39PM)]: So...care to come pick me up? Im done with post once I check out of the hotel._

Now he wanted a drink, something Cullen had at home, and a good meal. He wanted to talk to the man. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to pretend like the last few days, and especially the last few hours, had never happened. People had stared at him, they all knew, and it was so obnoxious. Seeing Cullen for dinner in the afternoons had only made it better by a fraction, and Dorian just _hated_ that people knew.

They knew and they talked and now _he_ wanted to see and talk to Cullen.

\----

_[Text: Dorian (4:40PM)]: I’m already out the door._

Cullen sent that text and, true to his word, was on his way in record time wearing a smile he couldn’t help. The past three days had been… ok. Texts back and forth like they’d done for a while on the break between seasons, but with the added bonus of dinner each night. Of course, Dorian had been tired - it seemed cruel to pile more work on after they’d just gotten back from weeks and weeks of fishing - but he was still there, still wonderful. And now, he was coming home… _well, back to my place for a while_ , Cullen corrected himself. He knew they’d eventually have to part ways so Dorian could get his life settled now that he had the means to do so, but Cullen was resolute in the idea that Dorian wouldn’t leave Ferelden feeling unfulfilled. So he drove the 45 minutes into town, spent the entirety of that time thinking up ways to make what time they had together the best - relaxing, healing, fun, all of that.

Before he knew it, he was pulling into the parking lot of that shady hotel, glad that he could finally take Dorian away to a place where he could rest and find comfort.

\----

It only took ten minutes to get checked out of the hotel. Dorian had the foresight to pack before he’d gone in that morning, so it wasn’t like the last time when he’d been trying to pack in a hurry. He was waiting out front, just outside the office, when Cullen pulled up, and Dorian got to his feet. One hand was occupied with a cigarette, but he waved with the other and smiled.

Maker, he was _done_ with work for a while. It was a wonderful thought. They could relax together for as long as they liked, and that was all Dorian cared about. He just... he wanted Cullen. He wanted to get in the truck and enjoy the drive back. He wanted a soft bed and Cullen’s strong form beside his own, and he wanted to _sleep._ He wanted to rest and recover and have coffee out in the garage and sit on the couch and watch bad movies.

Now he could. Once they talked, of course, but... they had time now. They could talk, and then they could move forward.

\----

The tires crunched over debris and broken pavement as Cullen pulled into a parking spot close to where Dorian stood smoking. Grinning, he got out of the truck and had a moment of deja vu as he strode over to the other man. Still, it wasn’t an exact mirror to the last time he’d pulled up to collect Dorian - last time he’d been eaten up with worry while right now, his heart was light.

Vanilla and clove welcomed him as he strode up even with Dorian, a scent that had been nauseating once upon a time. It was funny, how things changed. “Hey you,” Cullen greeted Dorian and leaned in to kiss his cheek, “Ready to leave this all behind?”

\----

“Mm, take me,” Dorian replied dramatically and put his free hand up to his forehead like he was swooning, “home. Take me _home_.” He winked, moved his hand, and leaned in to hug Cullen lightly. More than anything he just wanted that for a minute. Cullen was warm from being in the truck, and it was cold enough that Dorian could see his breath and was shivering a bit underneath his layers.

It didn’t take long for him to get his bags tossed in the back, and he turned to look over at Cullen, “I’m hoping for a not fried kind of meal,” he said, “if I eat another fried chicken wing my body might revolt.”

\----

Dorian’s dramatics never ceased to make Cullen smile, and he chuckled as he helped with the lighter of Dorian’s two bags. _Take me, huh?_ Cullen thought, _If only. Fucking broken ribs._ Still, even if there couldn’t be much of _that_ happening, what he wanted most was just Dorian’s presence at his side. And now, well, he had that for a while, so nothing could be better.

“You’re in luck, then,” Cullen answered as he leaned in to brush a kiss against Dorian’s forehead, “I’m better prepared, pantry-wise, this time.” With a little dramatic flourish of his own, he opened the passenger door of his truck, “Your chariot awaits, sir. Such as it is.”

\----

Dorian got in with a smile and settled himself in the seat, “Will there be any well-times classic rock hits playing when you start up this time?” he teased as he pulled on his seatbelt, “because that was pretty good.”

Oh, he’d missed this. He’d missed the easy conversation and the smiles and the jokes. Dorian loved the way Cullen looked when he was happy, and Dorian was secretly pleased with himself that he was the one to make Cullen so happy. How many people could say that? Cullen had been the one to pull him from the waters where he drifted, and Dorian was the one to make _him_ smile? It was like a fairy tale. He’d found his prince charming, or perhaps prince _goofy_ , and instead of a white horse it was a white boat and instead of shining armor it was ripped jeans and a knitted jumper. Dorian could work with that. He was happy to work with that.

\----

“Yes, but the volume is set to a more civilized level,” Cullen answered with a smile as he cranked the truck up and put it into gear. This time, taking Dorian to his home… it felt good. Natural. There was no concern over what they were or what might happen. There wasn’t any _fear_ \- the only reason Cullen’s heart beat faster than usual was from happiness and the feeling of Dorian’s hand resting on his thigh as they talked and laughed on the way home. As soon as he was out of town and didn’t have to fuss with the gearshift, he took Dorian’s hand in his own and felt settled as he did. At peace. Right.

Before he knew it, they were there. After bringing Dorian’s stuff in, Cullen took a breath and turned to the other man, “Welcome back. _Home_ while you’re here, love.”

\----

As if that wasn’t the best thing in the world to hear. Dorian sighed happily, contentedly, and he turned to step into Cullen’s space. “This feels more like home than anywhere else has in a long time,” he murmured as he wound his arms around Cullen’s shoulders and kissed his cheek. This really was _home_. He didn’t feel weird thinking or saying that, and it was nice that Cullen thought it as well.

“I love you,” Dorian said into Cullen’s ear, “amatus.”

\----

_Amatus. Part of his heart. Most beloved._

Cullen's cheeks flushed with the memory of what that word meant. How could he forget? He'd read Dorian's letters every day since he'd been home, with the exception of the first two hazy medicated days, of course. But _that_ letter, the one he'd carelessly crumpled in a moment of stupidity, that one was folded neatly and, along with the one he'd found in his coat pocket, tucked safely into his wallet. He'd never been the type to hold on to those sorts of things, but then again, he'd never been in love like this before, either.

So, he wound his arms around Dorian’s waist, pulling him in tighter than maybe he should have for the way Cullen's ribs complained. He didn't care; he barely felt it in the rush of emotion and the joy of just having Dorian so near. “I love you, too,” he breathed before burying his face in dark waves of silky hair. “How… how long will you stay?”

\----

“Long enough to recover a bit and so we can spend some time together,” Dorian answered as he hugged Cullen that much tighter, “a week or two? Something like that? Maybe a little longer?” he wanted to stay for a while, but he did have things that needed to get done. That said, he had the time now. They could just enjoy each other for a while. That was all they really needed, wasn’t it?

He leaned in and nuzzled his nose at Cullen’s hair before he smiled, “My stuff isn’t going anywhere for now, so... we have time.”

\----

One or two weeks didn't seem like nearly enough, but what could he do about it? What _could_ be done other than try and make the most of the time they had? The truth of the matter was that Dorian had a life to build elsewhere, one that didn't involve fishing or this little town. A life to which Cullen was a recent addition. He knew he would be complicating that somewhat for Dorian, tying him here when maybe he didn't want to be, making him choose things maybe he wouldn't have otherwise, and…

… and Cullen was getting ahead of himself, letting worry for the future rob him of the moment. He spared a little laugh at his own expense - that was going to be a hard habit to break himself of - and pulled back enough to tilt his head and brush a kiss against Dorian's temple. “We do. Have time. So how about we make some dinner and start enjoying it?”

\----

He sighed happily and just rested his forehead against Cullen’s shoulder for a long moment. It was a breath, time to relax, and Dorian just wanted to take it in. His fingers tangled in Cullen’s jacket, and he nodded. “Can I amend that to maybe a shower first?” Dorian asked, “I just want a hot shower where I’m not worried about catching something from the tile.” He’d shaved and taken care of his hair at the hotel, but the water never got hot enough or lasted long enough, and he rather liked being able to enjoy the heat and steam for longer than two minutes at a time.

\----

Cullen chuckled at that, but he completely understood where Dorian was coming from. The boat's shower was too small to be good for anything other than a quick burst of warmth and cursory cleaning and… well, Cullen had seen the hotel’s bathrooms. Even he would have been careful in there. “Poor thing,” he laughed, “Hasn't even had a decent shower yet. I can get dinner started if you want… go on.” Cullen grinned as he unwrapped himself from that embrace. “But, ah, in the closet in there… there's a little surprise for you.”

\----

One eyebrow cocked. Surprises were nice, that was for sure, but Cullen had been home and in pain... so what could it have been? And in the closet? Dorian was picturing all manner of things: special soaps, maybe one of those bath bombs that he’d talked up during his time there, or even a robe or something? Anything was good. Anything Cullen had left for him was going to be perfect and he knew it.

So he leaned up and kissed Cullen’s cheek, “A surprise, hm?” he asked, “Now I’m doubly excited.” Dorian kissed Cullen’s cheek again, then turned to head for the bathroom, though he couldn’t quite help putting a bit of swagger into his steps. He knew Cullen loved that, ridiculous as it was, and he thought it was fun to tease him... if only a little.

When he got to the bathroom, toiletry kit in hand, and looked in the closet, he was absolutely delighted. Two weeks of (rather light, in his opinion) complaining about those small and scratchy towels had yielded a cabinet full of thick and soft ones that wrapped him up so nicely. They were perfect. And it made him smile as he washed and just stood under the hot water before he got out, wrapped one around his waist, and set to actually being able to do all of his post-shower regimen that he hadn’t had time for what felt like months. Moisturizer, lotion, oil in his mustache, hair brushed so it was moderately tamed, and a spritz of cologne in the same scent as his soap.

He felt human again.

And when he was done, he decided, with a touch a mischief, to forego anything else and just made his way out and back into the living room and kitchen in just the towel. Like he had that day when they’d decided to make this something real and tangible. Maybe, _hopefully_ , Cullen would want to take a bit of advantage even with the broken ribs.

\----

Well, hopefully the towels wouldn't be a letdown… maybe he shouldn't have hyped it as a surprise, but Dorian had certainly complained enough for Cullen to take a hint. And, honestly, it was a small thing to make Dorian feel more comfortable here. That's all he wanted - for Dorian to feel like he belonged. Big towels were the most obvious first step.

Cullen hummed to himself happily as he made a quick dinner of spaghetti, garlic toast and salad from a bag. He wasn't a very good cook… but Maker, he tried. Dorian's shower lasted just long enough for him to get it mostly done, and when he heard the padding of feet down the hall, he called out, “Dinner’s almost ready. Hope you like spaghetti.” He looked up with a grin from where he was stirring the sauce and his eyes went wide for just a breath as his hand stopped stirring. Maker help him with this beautiful, ridiculous man. “... which, I suppose could be warmed up later.”

\----

Dorian just smirked and folded his arms across his chest, “Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” he teased, “I just thought, you know, I’d show off my appreciation for these lovely new towels in person.” One eyebrow cocked and that rather mischievous smile spread across his face, “Or you could show me _your_ appreciation and take it off. Either way is good for me.”

\---

Cullen hummed thoughtfully and turned back to his sauce, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. He’d intended to play along, to tease or try to be coy, but it’d been too long... and Maker knew Cullen could hardly keep his hands to himself where Dorian was concerned when the man was fully dressed. This? Him standing there still warm from his shower and fresh and wrapped only in a towel? It was like the first time all over again, but better because every bit of this was intentional.

Shaking his head, Cullen sighed and turned the burners off, covered the pots, and made sure the oven was off. He at least had the presence of mind for all that. Which was good, since the longer Dorian stood there looking like he did and giving him _that_ smile, the less control Cullen had over his higher cognition. So he turned back to Dorian, eyes alight with amusement and desire, and stepped closer as one hand went to the knot that held that towel up and pulled Dorian in the rest of the way. “Want to see my _appreciation_ , do you? That’s an interesting term for it.” He tilted his head down, breathing in the scent of cologne and shampoo and the underlying bit that was just so very Dorian. “I can oblige. I have a great deal of _appreciation_ to show, after all,” he murmured into the man’s ear, voice low and a bit raspy for the sudden wave of want that washed over him. “Slowly though. You’ll have take care of me. I am injured, you know.”

\----

“Oh, you poor thing,” Dorian breathed as he wound his arms around Cullen’s neck, “I’ll take care of you. Trust me, hm?” That smile didn’t shift from his face before he leaned in for a kiss. Gentle wasn’t usually their way, not as gentle as they would need to be for Cullen, but Dorian was going to definitely make this a good use of his time. They’d find a way, for sure, and Dorian was looking forward to falling into bed with Cullen, then sleeping somewhere comfortable.

So he led the other man back to the bedroom, and the moment they made it to the bed he pulled off the towel and got them both comfortable. It was a long, _long_ evening together. Long, but so good. So, so good. And he loved it. He loved every gentle second of it until they finally pulled apart to eat and then go straight back to bed.

Maker, but he loved Cullen so. He would have stayed with him forever, just like this, if he could have.

Which was how the next couple of days went. Dorian slept a lot, recovered a bit, and spent his waking time with Cullen as they had before they’d left for the season: coffee, tv on the couch, sometimes out in the garage with Cullen half tinkering on the car. It was bliss. After everything they’d gone through, after everything they’d done, Dorian was so happy to have this time. He loved being able to lean over and kiss Cullen when he wanted, hold his hand when he wanted, and even just to tell him he loved him.

They did a lot of that, the telling each other how they felt.

So on the third day... Dorian knew. He had to tell Cullen, now that he’d slept for a little while in a good bed, about what he and the producers had talked about. It was important. He knew it was and he didn’t want to put it off. _Not_ talking had gotten them into a lot of trouble, and Dorian had promised himself that he’d never be secretive with Cullen again. Ever. Again.

He made his way into the kitchen where Cullen was nursing the coffee pot. Both arms wound around his waist and he gingerly leaned against him as he rested his chin on the other man’s shoulder. “Can I borrow you for a little bit?” he asked, “I wanted to have a bit of a chat about one of the meetings I had with my boss.”

\----

The way they’d fallen back into how things were before was comforting. More than that, it was amazing. And it wasn’t exactly like how it was before, really, because now there were three words there that hadn’t been before. Murmured in the dark of night or said at random times throughout the day like neither of them could say them enough now that they knew that’s what this was.

_I love you._

They’d be doing something normal, mundane, and the light would catch Dorian in a certain way, or he’d flash a smile, or just be _sitting_ there, and Cullen would feel that powerful rush of _I love you_. And of course, he’d just have to say it. It was… Maker, it was the best time of his life, just being there with Dorian doing nothing at all… and every so often, Cullen was struck with a small spike of anger that he’d almost thrown it away. But somehow, it was still there… still there and growing stronger and Cullen just felt… blessed.

So yeah, he told Dorian every chance he got how he felt... either in words or deeds, he told him.

The morning started as the others had, with kisses and smiles and snuggling away the time before they decided to finally pull themselves away from the comfort of blankets and pillows. And now Dorian was holding him again, and Cullen had to laugh softly. “Borrow me? I think the answer to that one is fairly obvious.” But he’d mentioned a conversation with the producers… and that couldn’t mean anything good. He turned to face Dorian and let his hands rest just above the other man’s hips. “I imagine they had some words for you… was it too bad?” he asked, wincing at the thought that they’d yelled at Dorian… or worse… for how things had gone.

\----

He took a breath. “It... wasn’t great,” Dorian answered, and his gaze dropped lower before he licked his lips and sighed, “they didn’t fire me, though, so... that’s something. It was a whole huge thing about professionalism and everything, and they _did_ say that while we might have slipped up here and there, that it didn’t actually get in the _way_ of me working. They liked what I brought to the show, so... I ended up having to re-sign a contract that had a special addendum about relationships in it. All the type of stuff about it not getting in the way and that.”

Dorian looked back up into Cullen’s face then, “But... it’s going to be on the show. Whatever they got, it’s up for grabs for them to use. I had to sign off on that, too. I fought to keep it out, but you already signed that whatever they film is theirs to use and I... well, it was just easier to agree after a while. But I did try. It’ll be out there, though, and I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

\----

Tension released as Cullen's body relaxed, and he exhaled, long and slow, through a little smile. While, no, it wasn't good that they'd given Dorian the third degree, in the grand scheme of things, a stern talking to and a new contract wasn't the worst outcome. Dorian still got paid for his work. He could still use that income to pick up and start over. That was the most important thing, everything else was secondary to that.

“Don't you worry about the show, ok?” he said with a soft tone. “After I realized pretty much everyone knew, I figured they'd use whatever footage they caught - I know what I signed. I've played this game with them for years now… why do you think my official interviews were so… dry?” He took another breath, smiled a little more warmly and reached out to take Dorian's hand, entwining fingers as he tilted his head to fully meet beautiful grey eyes lined with worry. “Besides… is it the _worst_ thing, people knowing? I'm not looking forward to how parts of it will play out… you know, edited for drama.” He laughed softly and rolled his eyes at the idea, but met Dorian's gaze again before going on. “It won't make me look good, but I guess I deserve that to a degree, insufferable ass that I was… or am. The point is… I love you… I don't care who knows that. I'm not… I don't feel like I have to hide _everything_. Not any more. And most especially not the very best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

\----

A full on blush filled Dorian’s face, and he ducked his head a little to try to hide it. It wasn’t anything Cullen hadn’t seen before, and he knew that, but to know that Cullen wasn’t upset or... worried about it all, that was something _huge_. It went against almost everything Dorian had ever really known about a real, adult relationship, and it rocked him for a moment. Of course, Dorian had never been shy about who he dated, if only because he rather liked telling the social protocols of the Imperium where they could shove themselves, but he hadn’t known anyone _else_ who felt that way. For Cullen to be so open... Dorian couldn’t help how it made his chest ache. It was a good thing, for sure, but it was so new and strange.

“You really don’t mind?” he asked softly as he looked back up into Cullen’s face, “truly?”

\----

The wash of emotion on Dorian's face was a little hard to read, but the way he asked that question, like he'd thought Cullen would want to hide him away… it spoke of past experiences that weren't so great. Hurtful, maybe, and hadn't Dorian himself said once that he didn't have much to reference for how a relationship was supposed to be? Well, neither had Cullen, and as far as he was concerned, their relationship should be what _they_ wanted it to be, nothing else.

But what it definitely _wasn't_ was something to hide, like he was ashamed of it. Not now that no one's livelihood depended on their secrecy. Cullen's chest pricked a little knowing that the hesitant way the man was asking for reassurance was because someone somewhere in Dorian's past _had_ kept him hidden.

“Really, truly,” Cullen said gently and drew Dorian in against his chest, one hand buried in dark waves of hair and the other wrapped tightly around his waist. “Though,” he went on, chuckling softly, “I _will_ have to make a phone call to my sisters. I already told Mia… but Rosie’ll kill me if she finds out from watching the show… and I'll have to tell them that, whatever the show makes it look like… we're happy. We’re ok and we're happy.” He sighed then, content with Dorian so close, “Right?”

\----

That helped to ease him. Cullen wouldn’t hide. He was _happy_ to let the world know he loved him. Dorian... had never known that. Rilienus had been happy enough to let the world know they were _together_ , but not that he loved him. At the time, Dorian had been alright with that, but now... now he wanted to shout it from the rooftops. Cullen was the best thing to happen to him, and Dorian was so happy. So, so happy.

“I think I’d like to meet your sisters,” he offered after a moment and gave Cullen another one of those shy kinds of smiles, “and tell them how happy you make me. Even if you _were_ a bit rude to me at first.” That smile went from shy to something a bit more playful, “but I’m sure they’ll understand. And then... the world will know, and everyone will agree I’m the luckiest man in Thedas.”

\----

“I, ah… highly doubt anyone will think that if they cut the footage the way I expect them to,” Cullen replied, shaking his head and only half smiling. “I wasn't exactly good to you at times… more than a _bit_ rude, and I'm not proud of that. I fully expect a few angry letters telling _me_ how lucky _I_ am that you didn't wash your hands of me.” He gave Dorian a squeeze and it was his turn to look a little shy. “I was worried for a while, you know, that you might… come to your senses while you were out. Realize that maybe you went too easy on me for how I acted, that you couldn't forgive me. I even called Mia all upset about it… and she helped a little bit, but I still worried, you know… but then I found your note and… I'm not worried any more.”

\----

“Maker, I forgave you the minute you opened your eyes,” he answered before he leaned up and kissed Cullen’s lips gently. The fact that Cullen had worried at all hurt a bit, if only because he knew he had grounds to maybe not trust that were based in truth. Cullen had been through a lot, had trusted before and been hurt, but Dorian had never been more sure of anything than he was that he loved the man. “And I’m glad it helped,” he went on, “I... wasn’t sure what to write, but I did want to leave you something you could find. But I might have gotten all the big emotions out in the letter before... well, everything. I figured that was enough. It was all I really _needed_ to say.”

He smiled then, and reached up to cup Cullen’s face, “I love you,” Dorian said, “and no amount of time or distance is going to change that. On the boat, off the boat, whatever. I’ll love you no matter what we decide to do. That’ll never change.”

\----

_Maker, what have I done to deserve this much good in my life?_

That sheepish look dissolved, turned warmer, and Cullen was smiling again as he leaned in for another kiss. “I know,” he answered, and covered the hand on his cheek with one of his own. “And Maker help you, you're stuck with me since my heart's already decided on you… There's just nothing for it, I'm afraid,” he went on, voice soft and low as he closed his eyes and tilted his head down to rest his forehead against Dorian's. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I didn't think I _could_ , but here we are and I love you, too.”

\----

“I think you should show me how much you love me,” Dorian murmured before he tipped his chin up and kissed Cullen’s forehead, “and not _necessarily_ like you did last night, even though that was wonderful.” He smoothed his hands over Cullen’s arms and took his hands so he could hold them for a moment. These moments were so important. So perfect. After such a long season, it was what he needed to recover. “How about breakfast? To celebrate being home together?” he asked, “I think you make the best bacon and eggs I’ve ever had.”

\----

“Flattery will get you… breakfast, actually,” Cullen laughed as he stole one last kiss before untangling himself long enough to cook up a reasonable morning meal. The fact that Dorian was comfortable enough to call this _home_ warmed him through, and he vowed to do just what the man had asked - to show him just how much Cullen really loved him. So they spent days like that: resting, healing, just being together and enjoying every second. It was an odd mix of giddy happiness and comfort, like they'd always been this way but at the same time like everything was fresh and new. Which, Cullen assumed, was probably due to how intense their _courtship_ had been, if one could call it that. Short, but focused and crystallized out there on the Frozen Sea, it was like they'd known each other for years… but they hadn't, so there was still that flush of discovery at every turn as they took the time to talk and learn. And it only made things better… closer… _more._

Of course, it couldn't last. Not like it had been going, anyway, which was sad, but it was what it was. There were things Dorian had to do for himself, things he needed to do to get _his_ life on track. Cullen understood that - that Dorian didn't want to feel like he was floating through life. The way things were at Cullen's… they were lovely, but in the long run, they both knew Doran wanted more than the small town afforded. Goals, aspirations, creativity… all those things would be stifled, and Cullen wasn't about to hold him back. So even in that, he showed Dorian how much he loved him. He loved him enough to not want to change him - to let him go and be himself and do the things he needed to do to be who he was meant to be.

Which meant eventual separation. Temporary, for sure, but real. So, when they couldn't ignore it anymore, they spent an afternoon setting a date and scouring the internet for the best airfare to Tevinter. One ticket. One goodbye for now.

That done and a hard deadline set, they made the most of what they had with lazy mornings and trips to town and dates that were _definitely_ dates and not at all clouded by the need for secrecy. They walked the streets and visited shops and had dinner, holding hands and laughing, paying no attention to the looks they must have gotten for the figure they cut together - Cullen in his jeans and workboots and messy hair, Dorian in tailored slacks and jewelry and eyeliner. They were different. They were the same. They were whole together. And, just like Doran said, no amount of distance or time would change that.

So when the day came, some three weeks after the end of the season, there was a sort of bittersweetness to it. Bitter for the nights and days that would surely be lonely without the other half of Cullen's heart beating next to him, but sweet in knowing that they were moving forward. At the end of everything, they could be _together_ , for real - with all the wonderful ups and downs that would entail. It wouldn't be a dream of domesticity, it would be solid and lasting. And this, Dorian finding his way, would take them there.

They woke together that morning to a shining sun, sore and tired in the best way from how they'd spent their last night together. They'd taken their time, been as rough as they'd liked and as gentle as they needed, and Cullen had marvelled that somehow, every time they shared their bodies like that was the best time. But then, they'd had to move, to get Dorian packed the rest of the way and out the door. It was hard, so hard, but necessary, and now they faced one another at the airport. At the place where they'd have to part.

But only for a time. Somehow, Cullen knew they'd never be apart for long from here on.

A sad smile played at Cullen's lips and his eyes burned a little as he handed Dorian's carry on bag off to him. Cullen had a little something to give Dorian - something to link them together, even when they were apart. He'd prepared it that morning in secrecy, insofar as it needed preparation... a little thing, really, but it carried so much weight and had so, so much meaning.

Cullen licked his lips and his eyes darted to one of the large digital clocks on the wall. “Well, ah… it's about that time, isn't it?”

\----

Bliss.

Bliss was about the only word to describe the last few weeks. It had been everything Dorian could have asked for. They had taken the time to just _be_ together. It wasn’t with the clouds of having to hide or the uncertainty of it being something new. Now was the time for them to talk and laugh, especially since a lot of the bad shit was out of the way, and to learn about one another. It was the kind of learning that happened naturally and with no prompting. It was _fun_. All of it was fun.

In that time they’d done so much: gone out together, went on _real_ dates, hung out around the house, and just loved each other. It was so tooth-rottingly domestic, but still wonderful. After he’d been there for about a week, Dorian had presented Cullen with a flash drive full of the pictures he’d taken that day they’d gone up to the bridge and mill and Cullen’s spot. They’d looked through them together, and Cullen had seemed genuinely impressed. It gave Dorian a chance to show off his skills, and Cullen had practically pulled him into his lap as Dorian talked through why he’d picked the pictures he’d picked.

Including one, which he had a copy of too, that was just Cullen looking a bit pensive in the mill with that low light making him look so... well, it was hard to describe. It looked like an important moment. That whole day had been so important, but Dorian loved that picture. He loved the composition _and_ the subject. Flanked by the pictures of the mill, too, Dorian had never been prouder of his work. It had all turned out so _good_. He hadn’t been that happy with how his pictures had turned out in a while.

Then... life. Life had to happen. As nice as it was to just stay with Cullen and pretend like that could be his life forever, Dorian knew he needed to go and actually take care of things. He needed his own place, needed his things from the Imperium, and he needed to get his life in order. Now he could. Now he felt like he could move forward and do what he was supposed to be doing without worry. That was a wonderful thing. He had someone now. He had a job and an income. He had... a _real_ life. It was a life that was more than spite and self preservation. Dorian could _live_ now instead of just _moving forward_.

That was Cullen’s influence, though. He knew that. Cullen had saved him, on several occasions now... and more than anything, he’d saved Dorian from a life where he put himself completely and solely at the center.

“Don’t remind me,” Dorian mumbled. He’d already sent off his big bag to be put on the plane, and now it was just security and the flight. There was time, still plenty of time until his flight left to get through everything, but he wasn’t ready. Not yet. There was still something he had to do.

He licked his lips then and nodded toward a little sitting area by a window that was empty. They could talk there without anyone interrupting them. “Come with me for a bit?” he asked, “I’m, um... not really ready yet.”

\----

So, a little longer together then. Good. Very good. That suited Cullen just fine - to have even a few more moments before Dorian disappeared behind security checks and off into Tevinter. And the little area by the window was perfect for some of the things he wanted to say before that plane took Dorian away from him.

Cullen nodded and took Dorian’s hand. “If I’m honest, I’m not sure I’m ready, either,” he said as they made their way over to the little seating area Dorian had pointed out. Once they’d gotten settled in empty chairs, Cullen wondered how he should give Dorian what he meant to give him. In his head, it had all been very sweet and dramatic… but airports were rarely either of those things in real life, and he was having a hard time knowing where to begin. He sighed then gave a soft laugh, “Well, at least you’re getting on a plane, not a boat. Less seasickness, anyway, right?”

\----

“Probably about the same, considering the destination,” he answered with a sigh, “but... Felix is picking me up, so that’ll be good. I asked that he keep my coming back quiet, so there’s probably no chance of me running into Halward and Aquinea, so long as I’m not stupid about where I go.” Which was something. A quick and easy trip to get his things sorted. Already, he had a list of addresses and what he needed so it would be a week, probably, maybe two at most. Dorian could handle that.

This, though? The leaving? He was having trouble handling that. Walking away from Cullen was maybe the hardest thing he’d done in a long time. Maybe the hardest thing he’d done... well, maybe ever. Everything else had been far too easy. This was hard. Harder than anything. Cullen had done so much for him, had given him so much, and he couldn’t leave right now. Not yet. Not until Cullen knew.

Dorian took a breath then and reached out to take Cullen’s hand, “I should have maybe given this to you last night, but... other things seemed more important. Still, I don’t want to go until I say this.” He leaned over and kissed the other man’s cheek before he fished around in his coat pocket and pulled something out that was kept hidden in his hand. “So... and normally I’m better with this kind of thing, but I wanted you to know what you mean to me. I mean, you know I love you, but this is _more_ than that,” he explained, “everything you’ve done for me... and I know you’ll say you didn’t do anything, but you _did_. Even if you don’t believe it.”

\----

“You know me pretty well, I’d say,” Cullen smiled, shaking his head, “because I’m inclined to argue that I caused more trouble than maybe I’m worth.” He let his thumb run across Dorian's knuckles gently, just appreciating for the moment that this wonderful man _did_ think Cullen was worth the trouble. And now, Dorian was a little tongue tied, trying to tell him something, trying to give him something. Cullen was curious to see what it was, but more than that… he was touched. Touched by the bit of shyness in Dorian's eyes and the weight of his words, and how in the Maker’s name was he supposed to just let this man leave on that airplane, even for one night? “But what can be more than your love?”

\----

Dorian turned Cullen’s hand over and rested his other one on top of it, “You... saved me,” he told him softly, “and not just from that wave. Before all this, I was just sort of... drifting. Moving forward, sure, but not with any real purpose. I needed to have an income, and I had that, but I didn’t really have a _reason_ for it, you know?”

He moved his hand away from Cullen’s, leaving a silver chain with a charm in his palm. It wasn’t anything fancy, but when Dorian had seen it that day they’d gone out in Cullen's newly-running car, he couldn’t walk away from it. He'd seen it while Cullen was outside and fawning over the craft shop he’d gotten that lovely yarn from. Dorian had bought it, pocketed it, and saved it for the right moment. Now was about as right as it was going to be.

The charm, simple as it was, meant so much. In all these towns by the water, these were easy to come by. A life ring in silver. Small and simple, but filled with so much meaning. Cullen had saved him in so many ways, and even if it was kitschy and syrupy, Dorian didn’t so much care. It was what it was, and it was Cullen who'd saved him.

“Now I have a reason to want to move forward,” he went on, “and it’s not _just_ you, but you make me want to be better. It’s easier to make a life when there's something to move toward that’s not just doing things to spite my parents and prove my own independence. I mean, those are good reasons too, but I needed more. Now I have more. You gave me that, and you saved me from drowning in just... open water. That’s all it was until I met you, hm?”

\----

Scarred lips parted, and Cullen inhaled as if he were going to speak, but the words wouldn't come. To hear that Dorian felt that way, that somehow _Cullen_ had given him some of the reason he needed to move forward with purpose… it was overwhelming in that moment - the emotion was just too big, and his chest ached a bit as it expanded to hold it all - and his hand curled around that little life preserver charm tightly as he brought it to his chest.

No one had ever given him anything like this - love, care, gratitude made tangible. Important. It was so important, and Cullen knew that that token would never be far from his heart. “Maker, you…” Cullen began, but his voice caught on the lump in his throat. He laughed at himself as he shook his head and then cleared his throat. “You don't _need_ to be better. Remember telling me that? I love the man you are… I love that you don't give up… I love that determination and steel in you that you don't seem to know you have… I love this soft side of you that you protect and hide from others, but show me. And this,” he said thickly as he opened his hand to show that little charm, “If I've helped you see all that… if I've somehow helped you find your reason to keep moving… I can't tell you how much that means to me. How much _this_ means.” Cullen moved then to put the necklace on, fumbling a moment with the clasp, but finally succeeding. “You… going out there on the sea to do what you need to do… facing down all that danger and sickness and hard work… you saved yourself, you know. But to have played a part in it… to keep _being_ a part of it… I couldn't ask for more than that. I'm never taking this off, love. Never.”

\----

Oh, it made him so happy to hear that. Dorian smiled, leaned over to bury his face in Cullen’s hair so he could press kisses against those curls. “I love you,” he murmured. He loved him so much. And while it was hard to leave, Dorian knew this was making it right for later. That was important. Playing pretend was fun, but the best thing he could do for them was to go forward and do the things that would make it better. He needed a life, a _real_ life, and he’d get that. He’d have it, and Cullen would be the best part of it.

He lifted his head then and reached out to touch that charm around Cullen’s neck, “I like it on you. I think it suits. I’d... hoped you’d like it.”

\----

Cullen tilted his head to brush a kiss against the soft, shorn hair at Dorian's temples before nuzzling his face in against those dark waves. “I love it,” he murmured into Dorian's ear. He stayed that way for a long few moments, just letting all the sweetness sink in and settle into a deep happiness. “And I… well, I have something for you, too.” He sat back, smiling a little shyly as his hands went back to his neck, working with another clasp, but this was one he knew like an old friend, so it was only a matter of moments before it was undone.

He held it out in his hand, the thing that had been around his neck since it was issued to him long years ago. His dogtag... and only his. The rest lay safely in a box in the bathroom drawer back home, but this one… it was meant for Dorian. It was always meant for Dorian. Cullen had just been holding on to it for a while.

“This is yours,” he said, earnest, unguarded amber eyes meeting grey as he spoke, “Like I'm yours." He paused and took a breath as he searched for the words he needed. "For the longest, I kept it as a reminder of the past… but I was stuck there, you know, dead in the water… until you came along, and you breathed _life_ back into me. You made me see myself differently. You taught me that it's ok to want more, that life's too short to spend buried in the past.” He leaned forward then, reaching behind Dorian’s head to put that tag where it belonged. When it was on, he rested his forehead gently against Dorian's and raised a hand to cover the tag where it sat on the other man's chest. “That past is still mine. It's still part of who I am, and that's fine. But the difference is that now… now I have a _future **.**_ That future is with you. When you leave - wherever you go - you're carrying part of my heart with you… this is just… it's a reminder of that.”

\----

“I’ll never take it off,” Dorian promised, and covered Cullen’s hand with his own to just hold it there for a moment. It made his heart pound and his throat feel thick. He could feel the love and the _pride_ there, and for a moment, he didn’t even notice that they were in an airport. Dorian was home. He was _home_ with Cullen. He was home, and he had a _life_. A real life.

He leaned in and kissed Cullen’s lips gently, “And I won’t be gone long, I promise,” Dorian told him, “two weeks at the absolute most. Then... Denerim?” Both eyebrows rose, and he smiled a little, “if I can tear you away from home for a while? Maybe help me find a place? Maybe help me... I don’t know, figure this life thing out a little bit?”

\----

He'd gotten it out, what he'd wanted to say to Dorian - that Cullen wanted a future with him, that Cullen felt like he _had_ a future because of him. His heart was lighter for it; the dingy little airport was brighter for it. Perfect. This moment was perfect in spite of the impending goodbye and the hustle and bustle of the crowds around them. Right now, it was just Cullen and Dorian… and the promise that they'd move forward confidently… together. Five short months ago, Cullen wouldn't have dreamed it possible, hadn't even _recognized_ that he'd been stalled, but here it was, and he couldn't even conceive of anything else.

And he absolutely couldn't wait to see what the future had in store for them.

“Two weeks,” he nodded grinning like a fool, but not caring at all, “Then I'll meet you in Denerim… and we can stop waiting and get to _really_ living.”

\----

And that was that. That right there was what all this was. It was the promise of a real future with a real _life_ ahead. They’d been floating, on a little boat in the Frozen Sea, and now they had direction. A true direction. All of this just felt so _real_. It was tangible, just like that dog tag around his neck, and Dorian felt it move through him. Cullen was in his heart, part of his blood now, and the knowledge that they had the rest of their lives to figure things out _together_ meant more to him than anything else ever had.

They’d lived a few lives together in just a few short months: strangers, enemies, friends, then lovers. Now, they had forever to live as many more lives together as they needed or wanted to. Dorian could think of a few lives he wanted to live with Cullen, actually, and this was just the beginning of it. Yes, it was a parting. It was certainly that, but it was also a promise. It was a promise that they had more than just something hidden and unsure. It was something they could _make_ together. They could shape things the way they wanted and only have their lives influenced by their past instead of letting it rule over them like it had been.

When he went through security, Dorian couldn’t help but look back and watch Cullen watching him. It was only a few days, only as long as a fishing trip, and then they’d be back together. For real this time. Always for real, from there on out. It wasn’t an illusion, it wasn’t a nightmare or a constant worry at the back of the mind, which was almost overwhelming. In that moment, Dorian was overwhelmed with just how much potential they really had. And they had so, so much.

So he wrapped the hand not holding his carry on bag around the dog tag at his neck and squeezed it. That was part of Cullen, part of his heart, and Dorian hoped that when he held it, that maybe Cullen might feel it too. In some weird, magical kind of way.

_You're taking your life into your hands here, Mr. Pavus._

That had been one of the first things Cullen had said to him that day in that disgusting little “Community Center” in Gwaren when they’d been sizing each other up. If only they’d both known just how true it was... and not just for his life on the boat. Dorian had taken his life into his hands, and now he _had_ one. So did Cullen. Together. They’d taken their lives in hand and exchanged them, and now Dorian held Cullen’s in his heart like Cullen held his.

Two weeks, at least in the grand scheme of things, wouldn’t be very long at all.


End file.
